434: The Last Year of the Third Era
by The Blackjack
Summary: A tale of a thief's betrayal, a captain's duty, a merchant's love, and a general's ambition, all set to the backdrop of the chaotic final year of the Third Era. Currently being revised.
1. The Thief

It was one o'clock in the morning at the Waterfront when the _Roris the Martyr_ docked. Normally, such an event would have created much excitement, as the ship was from the east. The vessel itself was large: not quite modern enough to be a galleon but not bulky and difficult to handle like the antiquated ships from Daggerfall. Only a few Dunmer were above deck, all weary-eyed and loath to dock the vessel. The watchman wearily opened up a bottle of Greef and drank from it until he felt the _Martyr_ hit the side of the port. He cursed for a moment before entering the ship, while the others began moving to the bow to start to tie it down.

While the crew was at work, a hatch near the stern of the ship opened slowly. Emerging from the opening was a lithe Khajiit. Her breed was Suthay-raht; a rare sight in Cyrodiil. She was clad in a thin chitin armor that, along with her brown fur, concealed her well under the cloak of darkness. Her padded feet made no sound as she crept across the ship, keeping her eyes on all the crew at all time. She made her way to the port side of the ship and hopped off, landing gracefully on the cobbled ground.

The Waterfront was a mixture of old stone buildings to one side and lake Rumare to the other. She glanced across from the water. There was the Imperial City, dominating the horizon. She felt an indescribable emotion ripple throughout her. To see the city again, after all these years... It had been so long... Perhaps, even _he _was still here.

She quickly shook her head. This was no time to be lost in memories. She looked around her surroundings warily. The night eyes of a Khajiit made the task easier, but no one could truly take the entire Waterfront in. There were all sorts of villainy slinking in the corners and the alleyways that could be hard to detect. It wasn't as though their opposite made her any more relieved, either: there were usually at least a couple of guards stationed here, always on the looking for thieves like herself. With that in mind, she worked her way into the slums.

As she moved, she couldn't help but notice that the Waterfront had changed. When she was a young, mewing girl it had guards stationed at set points at all times, even at night. Now, the Waterfront was deserted. The Census and Exercise office was completely boarded up with several untariffed boxes stacked in front of it, some of them seeming like they had been there for months. The other Imperial offices nearby also bore the telltale signs of neglect—graffiti that was once always erased at the end of the day had been accumulating on their walls. A cart lied overturned in the middle of the street, and apparently no one had bothered to clean it up before sunset. She had fled Morrowind due to instability, but it seemed as though there was trouble even in Cyrodiil.

Eventually, she went under the stone arch that separated off the residential area of the Waterfront, known by most as the slums. She couldn't surpass a feeling of relief. The Khajiit still was looking about herself at all times and sneaking close to the ground, but the quiet streets had let her lessen her guard. She took a few more steps and looked about at the houses until a voice in the dark surprised her. "Habasi," it called out from the shadows, "I was waiting for you."

_That voice. _It couldn't be. The Khajiit stiffened quickly as though she had been stuck by an arrow. She turned her head towards the seemingly abandoned garden to her left. Her eyes scanned the darkness until she noticed a figure leaning on the wall, well out of sight unless thoroughly searched for. Upon being noticed, he walked over to the Khajiit and held out his hand. "Don't pounce, now. Or have you forgotten me already?"

She hadn't forgotten. She had never forgotten. She couldn't forget even if she wanted to. Several emotions flooded her head at once, but her instinctive curiosity overcame a much darker emotion, boiling under the surface of her psyche. "Christophe," she all but hissed, "How did you know Habasi was here?"

Now that Christophe was in better light Habasi could make out the Redgaurd's features. The years had changed him. The vibrant, handsome man she once knew had grown older. His youth had been ground away by the millstone of time: his once jet black hair had acquired a few strands of gray, and his once sparkling eyes had a new level of savviness that Habasi had never noticed before. Or, perhaps, she only saw it now because she expected to see anything but honesty in them. As she looked into those eyes, her fur began to bristle.

Christophe must have noticed, but didn't seem to be on guard, or even wary. "Do you really think that I wouldn't keep tabs on Stacey's group out east, kitten? I knew that you left, and that Cyrodiil is the only place with the contacts you need to get by," he concluded, "Now, what I'd like to know is why you've left Morrowind in the first place."

A scowl crossed over Habasi's face. "You dare demand answers from Habasi after what you did?" she snarled. She could feel rage gather deep inside herself as old wounds threatened to reopen.

"I am a doyen," Christophe replied evenly. He didn't share the inner conflict she was feeling, or at the very least wasn't showing it.

Habasi closed her eyes and tried to retain control of herself. She had to be stronger than this. She couldn't let him see what effect he had over her. "Not now," she manged with trembling words, "It is late, and Habasi wishes to sleep. She will tell you tomorrow."

She began to turn around, only to feel Christophe's hand clasp her shoulder. She would've gone for her knife if she wasn't so shocked. His hand was on her shoulder. It was almost enough to make her lightheaded. "No, Habasi," insisted Christophe, "I know you have a tendency to disappear. You're not in Morrowind anymore, and around here I call the shots."

A moment passed. Christophe looked at the back of the Khajiit's head, wondering why she had yet to reply. Then he heard her speak, her voice so quiet that it was almost unintelligible. "... Take your hand off..."

She was near the breaking point. Of all the responses she would've had to him, Christophe hadn't expected this. He knew that the two of them shared a... troubled past, but the words coming from Habasi were like nothing he had heard before. There was something distressingly about them. It was almost as though she was speaking from her soul—her words were soft, but full of the essence of passion that's only found in kings and heroes. 'She couldn't still...' he wondered, but his mind was cut off when he realized his hand was still on her shoulder. He took it off.

Habasi immediately took a step forward, getting as much distance as she could from him. "No more, Christophe," she replied, her voice returning to normal. "Habasi cannot do this tonight. Tomorrow. We talk of this tomorrow."

Christophe slowly nodded. "Tomorrow it is then, Habasi. You know where to meet me."

There was no reply. Habasi slowly slunk away, not looking back at him. Christophe watched the Khajiit vanish into the inky blackness and said nothing. He closed his eyes. As a thief, he lived for the present. As a doyen, he planned for the future. He had tried to keep his past buried, and succeeded. He hadn't thought of Habasi in a long time. But while he had moved forward, perhaps Habasi...

No more. He refocused his mind on guild business. If Habasi had fled Morrowind, perhaps Stacey's faction was collapsing into itself. The ramifications of that could be dire. As the most powerful thief in Cyrodiil, he had an obligation to guild to chart a course of action.

Try as he might, though, the nagging question of Habasi still interrupted his normally focused mind time and time again during the long night.


	2. The Captain

Amidst the scrubby grasslands and granite boulders of County Kvatch stood Fort Wariel. Centuries ago, in the days of Tiber Septim, it stood as a vital legionary post near Hammerfell and vital vanguard against threats from the Redguards. Later, when the Empire was more or less consolidated, it still held importance as the primary garrison and trade depot in County Kvatch when Forts Sutch and Hastrel were retired. Inevitably, however, Wariel declined in importance. In 3e 211 it was closed for good, with the newly refitted castle at Kvatch providing greater protection and more varied services than the fort could. The once proud keep fell into disrepair and negligence. For most of this century, its only residents were Lady Mantle blossoms and ginseng roots, their leaves slowly bobbing from the warm breezes of the Gold Coast.

But today, Fort Wariel was receiving an unusual amount of attention. The door had been forcibly torn open and occasionally the sounds of battle flared up from within, only to silence a few moments later. Near the open door stood two men, both Colovian men, intently watching the opening as if at any moment something of great importance would occur. Both were clad in the regalia of the Imperial Guard; the younger had on light chainmail while the elder wore the simple armor of Anvil guardsman and had an impressive claymore strapped to his back.

The elder was a man who seemed to be in his early thirties. He was a serious looking man in all regards. He had the perfect posture found only in well disciplined soldiers and was expression was brimming with determination. Despite his austerity, every now and then he would start tapping his foot, almost as though he were anxious or energetic. Than, after several minutes of watching there was the sound of lighting deep inside the fort. The elder nodded once. "That's it. I'm going in there," he declared and began to walk inside.

"Captain, stop!" the younger called out, "You do remember that the count gave strict orders only to go in if there was an emergency?"

The elder stopped and turned. "I heard a spell. That's an emergency."

The younger shook his head. "Please, Captain Lex, just stay out. There're only bandits holed up in there. We never even take injuries when we run these mop-ups."

The captain didn't seem pleased, but strode over to the side of the youth all the same. He looked back the fort. Another one of the warm, coastal breezes blew by, and the captain's foot began to tap once more. As the captain debated weather or not to try once again to take matters into his own hands, a word rang out from inside the building. "Clear".

The youth smiled. "See, captain? Nice and easy."

The captain nodded, but didn't smile, "Very good," he said evenly, "We've secured the building. I'm going to go inform the count."

At that, the youth turned. "You sure, Captain Lex? I mean, we've just finished off the bandits. You know I hear that there's a lot of vintage wine in those sorts of buildings..." he said, grinning slyly.

The captain scowled. "Tell the men that there is to be neither looting nor drinking. Everything inside that fort is the rightfully confiscated property of the Empire," he said forcefully, much to the youth's chagrin. "Clearup the mess inside and have the guard back at the castle by sunset. Those are your orders."

The captain turned and began to walk south to the Gold Road while the younger soldier kicked a nearby stone. "Dammit! So much for my bonus... How did we get paired up with that martinet? I've haven't the faintest idea how they put up with him in the City…"

* * *

Captain Lex took a brief respite from walking on the Gold Road about an hour later. He looked out over the Gold Coast, and Anvil. The afternoon sun bathed the surrounding countryside in light, making a dramatic effect on the golden grass. The country was still hardly developed. Only the occasional fort or camp broke the uniformity of the rolling hills and sleepy farms.

He still was a handsome man; he kept his face well washed and he never had one hair out of line. He wasn't old enough to wrinkle or even have many blemishes, but there was no more youthfulness in his face. Indeed, the strength in his eyes came less from young energy than a smoldering zeal. He didn't seem very pleased, though. When he surveyed the city of Anvil he frowned, but when he glanced east he felt a much sharper prang of nostalgia. If he were a lesser man he would have sighed.

At that point he heard the clacking of hooves behind him and looked back to the east. A large black stallion was galloping towards him. He quickly checked whatever sentimental expression he had on his face and regained his proper air of command. He reached out his arm and when the horse passed the rider wordlessly passed on to him a large sheet of parchment. Lex turned to get better lighting and began to read.

_SPECIAL EDITION!_

_EMPIRE TO WITHDRAW LEGIONS FROM THE EAST!_

_The question has been asked time and time again in the modern age: what is the greatest threat to the Empire? Should we fear another Prince of Oblivion beginning another crisis, or perhaps worry over a new black tide rising from the Dragon Land of Akavir? According to the Imperial Palace, the answer is no—the threat is Cyrodiil!_

_On Morndas, Reagent Ocato issued the new quarterly legion goals, containing two unorthodox and surprising measures. The first is the proposed renovation of several of the decrepit forts throughout Cyrodiil, taking them from ruins to operating bastions of Imperial might. The second is to recall roughly thirty percent of the legions from Morrowind and the Black Marsh back to the heartland, a sort of order that hasn't been issued since Tiber Septim united Tamriel in the Second Era._

"_This is an unbelievable command," states General Darius, who lead the Imperial Legion fort in the secluded town of Gnisis in the Morrowind province, "Order has been hard enough to maintain with the madness going on. With the recall in Fort Buckmoth our legion is supposed to cover nearly half of Vaardenfel. I just don't see how it's possible. We haven't fully recovered from our losses in the Redoran uprisings, let alone the Oblivion crisis."_

_Stranger still is the apparent lack of reasoning behind these recalls. The palace has said very little in regards to the matter, but rumors range from a massive military review to the beginning of a phased withdrawal from the eastern provinces. Recent unrest in the province of Morrowind in perticular seems to support the latter theory._

"_Imperial forces have occupied the East for too long, and it's produced little benefit for both the invader and the invaded," said Badrak Indarys, noted Dunmer critic of the Empire. "The fact that the Empire is withdrawing from the region should come to little surprise to anyone who has critically weighed the situation in both Morrowind and the Black Marsh."_

_Do these rumors imply the end of the Empire as we know it? Or are we just seeing a minor rearrangement in our military organization? Whatever the truth may be, one thing is certain: the eyes of the Empire shall be following these developments very closely._

Captain Lex shook his head disapprovingly. He had, of course, known this news for some time. Now that it was public knowledge, however, it would make the already delicate political situation in the Empire worse. He carefully folded the parchment up and slipped it into his armor. His gaze returned to Anvil. He had wasted enough time already, he reasoned, and pressed forward to the city.

* * *

Hieronymus Lex entered the court of Anvil with a certain calm. He glanced around the high roofs of Castle Anvil and at his lord and lady. He was never exactly happy while he was here, but he was almost always relaxed. For a man who was called a 'fanatical' in his recommendation, the newly acquired calm was well appreciated by the court. Lex strode in confidently and knelt before the Count Umbranox. The count had never truly enjoyed the company of Lex, a fact he never tried to hide while they talked. "My Lord," Lex began, "The guard have fully cleared Fort Wariel of the marauders which had infested it."

The countess beamed. "Exceptionally fine work, Captain Lex!" she said with a very amiable tone to the guard.

"Yes," Count Umbranox said dryly, examining his fingernails, "Capital."

"I live only to serve, my liege," Lex said, his voice respectful yet reserved. While he always performed his duties admirably, there was always a lack of energy to his voice.

After a moment of silence the Countess Umbranox renewed her smile. "Oh, do stand, Captain Lex, we have important news to discuss."

Hieronymus Lex stood. The countess seemed to be in an especially good mood today, as she often was in the past year. She even seemed somehow younger and more vibrant around her husband. Lex was happy for her, but her spirits were not infectious. "Now, Hieronymus," she began, using the guard's first name to his own surprise, "You well know that the empire has fallen upon some hard times. My husband and I have decided that the two of us should do our part to remedy the situation. We are going on a trip, you see: a diplomatic trip, to be precise. Soon we will be in the Summerset Isles that we may speak to the Altmer. Because of the current political climate we've also found it prudent to speak little of the departure, keeping it a close secret. We leave on Morndas."

Lex kept a stoic face, but internally wondered about this secrecy. He was the captain of the guard. There was no reason that he should not have known about it. "I see. After your Sun's Rest address? Very good, my lady, I shall pack my things…"

"You're not going, Lex," Count Umbranox said curtly.

This time the captain couldn't help but look surprised. "Not going?" he repeated, "May I ask why, my lord?"

"Dear Hieronymus," the countess began, "You have provided excellent service to us over the past year. You've been perhaps the most productive guard captain Anvil has ever seen. In fact, because of your… Unique proactivity, my husband and I have come to a conclusion," she paused slightly, as to collect her thoughts. "Hieronymus, we believe that you are… Overqualified for this job."

Lex stared blankly at the countess, "Overqualified? For Captain of the Anvil Guard?"

"You see, Tamriel needs you more than we," the Countess began slowly, gesturing to herself and the count, "In fact, your services have been personally requested by Legion Commander Giovanni Civello. He wants you to help orient the newly returning commanders from the east back to Cyrodiil."

Lex could hear his heart begin to beat quickly. He could return to the city? No, he was thinking prematurely. He tired to sober himself back to reality. "My lady, I... I could not possibly do such a thing. My place is at—", Lex said, but was waved off by the countess.

"I already told you, the skills you possess are far too important to be used solely by the court. You are to return to the Imperial City, present yourself to the Legion Commander, and do some greater good. The Summerset Iles are a very safe and calm region, one where we need little protection. You shall return to the court when we return but until then… You are an acting captain of the Imperial Watch."

The countess beamed again while the count idly looked at a tapestry behind Lex. When his wife leaned over to nudge him he sprang to alertness. "Oh, yes. Well, get a move on Captain Lex," he said with the distinct air that he would rather be somewhere else.

"M-My lady," he stuttered, slightly phased, but with his optimism growing wildly within him, "This is… I mean, thank you! Thank you, a thousand times over! An acting captain?"

The Countess Umbranox nodded to the starry-eyed captain. Lex took a step forward as if he were to embrace the countess, but checked himself. He saluted smartly to the court, "Thank you. I shall go gather my things."

Lex turned and strode out of the hall with a newfound spring to his step, and one guard could've sworn that the captain had chuckled to himself. When he left the room and the great oaken doors closed the countess looked to her husband. "You see, dear? Wasn't that far more agreeable than sacking the man? Look how happy he was."

"My love, I believe being sacked would've been good thing. It would knock his pride down a peg."

"Dear! How could you say such a thing? Why do you always say such disagreeable things about Captain Lex?"

Count Umbranox gave a dry smile to his wife, "We've had… Differences of view in the past."

The countess looked about the court once nervously, "Why, that is a lie and you know it, husband," she insisted, You've never met Captain Lex before last year."

The count laughed slightly, "Ah, you are right, Millona, you are right…"

* * *

Hieronymus Lex broke out of the castle nearly laughing. He walked over to a nearby guard and slapped him on the back in an uncharacteristically boorish vigor. Before the confused guard could even address Captain Lex had already beelined for the stairs and was climbing to the walls. Halfway to his assent he actually laughed loud and heartily and surveyed County Anvil. Even further he could imagine the Imperial City in its dazzling radiance. _His_ city. No longer was his homeland a source of heavy nostalgia. The melancholy had disipated to make room for a newfound optimism.

He felt like starting a speech, but no words could come to him. He only stood on the battlements, letting the breeze flow through his hair. He opened his arms up wide as to embrace the far-off capital, or perhaps his overwhelming good mood. The very strange mood on Lex's part was noted by the workers of the castle, who looked at him with an amused expressions. The captain was known to be despondant in Anvil, to the point where the stories of the fanatical guard captain seemed like gross exaggerations at best.

Lex quickly turned and jogged down the stairs, paying no heed to the chuckling guards and inhabitants of the castle. He was going to his chambers to pack his belongings. 'Tomorrow', he thought frantically, planning out his return to the Imperial City. It would be tomorrow that he would dust off his old armor. He would order a carriage! Indeed, for the first time this year Hieronymus Lex's luck was starting to change. It was time for the captain to return to his post.


	3. The Merchant

Maro Rufus stood at the counter of his store with a concerned look on his face. He glanced about the room. Everything seemed to be in perfect order. His display of light armor seemed as it always did. The room was clean, cool, and had a rather pleasant smell. Last time he checked his sign outside still read "The Best Defense". Keeping those factors in mind, he couldn't figure for the life of him why his store was empty. He glanced at the Redguard at the other side of the shop who was polishing a steel breastplate idly. He coughed once and threw his finger into the air. "Varnado, I have an announcement to make!" he declared, as if he had been planning to speak for some time. 

The Redguard stopped polishing and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mother Mara…" he muttered in annoyance.

Maro didn't seem to notice the words at all but looked forward, as if he were making the most of a dramatic silence. "Business… Is bad."

Varnado shook his head at the Imperial. He was a young man, with a face that wasn't necessarily unattractive. He had very expressive green eyes and nearly always wore a suit a chainmail, regardless of where he was. "Maybe if you sold something other than parchment to cover adventurers up you'd get more customers."

The Imperial didn't seem to recognize Varnado's point. Perhaps he simply didn't care or even listen. "Varnado, you've gotten customers today. Why is that?"

The Redguard returned to the upkeep of the breastplate. "Because I won a bid to refit a chunk of the incoming Legions. Dammit, Rufus, we've had this stupid conversation three times today already. Now you're going to speak about this being the biggest-"

Maro threw his finger into the air once more, again paying very little notice to the question he himself asked just a few moments ago. "You know, Varnado, this is the day before Sun's Rest. It's the biggest shopping day of the year! That is the first thing I learned the Merchant's Academy."

"Rufus, you've never even been to Wayrest, let alone the 'Merchant's Academy'."

Maro nodded in a grave manner, although not really to his companion. "Last year on this day we had plenty of customers! I fitted someone for a full set of mithril armor. It's the truth. But this year- Nobody. Business is bad."

There was a brief moment of silence. "Rufus, you are just stupid as- Wait. Did you hear that?" he said motioning for Maro to quiet down.

"Hear what?"

"Shh… Outside. It's like a chant…" Varnado said softly.

The two both left their counters simultaneously and walked over to the door. The Redguard put his ear to it, an action Maro quickly imitated. The muffled chant Varnado heard before was growing in intensity. Some angry words from what seemed to be a mass of people began to become clear. The Redguard gave the Imperial a very dire look, which after a moment of thought was returned. They opened the door a crack and looked outside.

A good third of the trade district had gathered around a large pile of crates that had been deposited in the middle of the road. They were all chanting something and occasionally breaking out into cheers or boos depending on the mob's general mood. The more interesting thing, and the feature that had captured the people's attention, was a young Breton who stood atop the pile. His trendy clothes and fashionable hair gave him away as a young aristocrat, but he carried a large, academic looking book. The young man also had a huge amount of the populace, be them rich or poor, fawning over him and generally agreeing with what he had to say. The shopkeepers heard him yell something dramatically, although the mass of frenzied people made what he exactly did say almost impossible to make out. Nevertheless, it sent the people into an even greater uproar. Varnado gave another look to Maro, now more worried about this young man.

The demagogue started moving his hands to quiet the group down, and managed to succeed. Dozens of eager eyes were upon him, watching him as if he were the avatar of Akatosh. The young Breton smiled slightly as he looked about the citizens of the Empire and started to speak. "My people!" he declared in a voice that obviously was no stranger to oration, "My people, the nightmare is over! Our fourth month struggle is coming to an end-"

He was broken off by another cheer from the crowd. He moved his arms up and down to quiet them once more. "I have discovered a cure, yes a cure, to the famine- Please, silence, please- And this very cure is in my room in the Arcane University- The whole, truth, yes, I can not lie! Not about this!"

The crowd broke into cheers again. Varnado, however, did not share in their revelry. "I see what's going on… What a joke, this guy," he whispered leaning towards Maro, "It's even worse that they're so desperate that they'll believe it."

Maro nodded quickly and looked back to the demagogue. The crowd started to chant again, albeit in several different variations. The Breton waved down the mass of people once more, "By my beloved kinsmen, I can not provide this cure with my own, weak powers. Indeed, I need your aid! The educators, they have taken my books and barred my entrance! I can no longer get to the cure that we need! Please, I need your aid to save you!"

The crowd exploded once more, "The injustice!" one cried.

"How could the Guild hold back this information!"

"I thinks that those mages made the famine, and are gonna profit sellin' the cure to us!"

The young Breton pointed towards the Arcane University dramatically, to the point where it seemed rehearsed to Varnado. But during the time he opened his mouth to speak the look on his face turned from confidence to fear. Breaking through the mass of people was a small group of guards, pushing down the adoring crowd and making their way steadily to him. He turned in a panic and tried to break into a run. However, he seemed to forget that he was on top of crates and fell onto the ground with a crash. During the time he was trying to pick himself up one guard had managed to catch up to him and pinned him back onto the ground while another began to bind his hands together. A third took out an official writ and started to read mechanically, "By order of Legion Commander Giovanni Civello I present a writ for the arrest of the confidence artist Serge Larue, also of the aliases Rene Pascal and Blaise de Coras. He is to be taken directly to the Bastion immediately. If anyone interferes they can and will be punished with obstruction of justice, a crime with a penalty of no less than two hundred septims. That is all."

The other two guards lifted the Breton to his feet. "A-An attack on free speech!" he cried out in desperation, "Help me, my people…!"

However, after the shameful capture his charisma had dissipated. The parts of the mob were mildly upset at worst to boasting that they knew it was a sham from the start. The group started to break up and go about their business, paying no attention the Breton's feeble attempts to drum up at attack on the guards. Varnado shook his head, "Looks like we missed most of it, Rufus. That's the second prophet this week. Things are starting to get ridiculous."

The two walked back into the store and went to the respected counters. Varnado returned to polishing his breastplate while Maro read some handbills in an attempt to look productive. After a few minutes Maro decided to speak up, "Varnado, do you really think that young man had a cure for that plant disease?"

Varnado made no attempt to stifle his laugh. "Are you out of you mind, Rufus? Don't you read the Courier? The hard part isn't curing it, but- Rufus, are you even listening?"

The Redguard gave Maro an odd look, as the latter was staring into space, as if he were contemplating something. Varnado leaned forward a little on his counter, looking inquisitively at the Imperial. "Hey, Rufus, are you okay?"

"Varnado… Business is bad!" Rufus declared, throwing his index finger in the air dramatically.

Varnado slammed his fist into his counter in frustration.


	4. Guild Business

Now normally, the Bloated Float had only a handful of customers. Everyone who visited the city had to eat there at least once, because it was wonderful novelty. It boasted to be the only floating restaurant, and that was probably the truth. However, the restaurant had very few regulars, as the food wasn't very good, and sleeping on a ship led most people to nausea in the mornings. That wasn't the case today. There was a long line snaking about the wharves of the Waterfront to even enter the ship, with people of all races sweating under the midday summer sun.

One of the people standing in line was Habasi. The kahjiit had wisely changed her garments over the previous night. Instead of the exotic chitin armor she had on a simple shirt and trouser combination, befitting someone of a low station. She kept mostly to herself, refusing to speak a word or even look anyone in the eye. She kept her well-trained eyes surveying her surroundings. The Waterfront seemed to be more vibrant during the day. The local populace had resurfaced and was back on the streets, now hawking their goods to the people who were in line. There was still a dearth of guards and of inspectors, though, and a rather suspicious looking ship was unloading its wares unharassed by any port authority. That made sense, as the Census and Exercise office was no more open than it had been last night.

When she had passed through the line Habasi entered the ship and looked about the dining area. It seemed that extra tables were ordered just for this day, as every serviceable square foot of space had some sort of group seated, eating, or conversing. The result was a very claustrophobic, hectic room with a myriad of sights and sounds (and even smells to a beastfolk) that normally she would go to all lengths to avoid. Today, however, would be an exception to that rule. She scanned the sea of people, looking for her dining partner for the afternoon. It didn't take her long to find the Redguard, who had noticed her some time before she caught eye of him.

The man gestured to her. He was wearing an unassuming black set of clothes and a rather amused smirk on his face. The khajiit had to use most of her self-restraint to prevent herself from snarling. Her light paws carried her swiftly to he table where she looked the Doyen in the eyes. "Christophe!" she hissed at him, barely audible over the din of the patrons.

"Good afternoon to you as well, Habasi," he said with the same smirk on his face, "Please, take a seat."

The khajiit glanced at the chair Christophe had gestured to and sat down. She looked the Redguard venomously in the eyes for a moment, but Christophe was by no means phased. Her stare was returned with an amused smile. After a few moments of bizarre silence, she realized she would have to speak first. "Christophe. The sugar," she said as softly as her voice could allow.

"Ah, yes, the sugar. I hear you've got quite the tooth for that stuff now. Isn't that what they call you out east? 'Sugar-Lips Habasi'?"

"Habasi wishes not to play. Give her the sugar," Habasi replied, sinking her claws into the wood of her table.

"And here you said that you were never going to touch the stuff. I must say, I'm disappointed to hear that you've gotten such a need for it. It's been what, a few days, and you look like you're going to snap. You really should've known better."

"Christophe. The sugar," she repeated, obviously losing her patience.

Christophe wagged his finger at Habasi with apparent amusement. "You know better than that, kitten. I don't just give this stuff away. And, as you might have noticed, I've got the only source available to you in the city," he said patting a small black pouch on his belt, "So if you want to get it… I suggest that you earn it."

The kahjiit hissed softy, then quieted down. She took a moment to compose herself "… What do you want to know?" Habasi then muttered.

"What do I want to know? A great deal, Habasi. But we're not discussing what I want to know, but what I need to know. And what I need to know is guild business," he began, his friendly tone now giving way into a more businesslike one.

"Some place to discuss guild business…" the kahjiit noted, looking about at the many people who were dining about them.

"Don't be silly, Habasi. Look about you. No one is watching us, let alone hearing us. I told you. The guards don't even bother to send spies to the Waterfront anymore. Now lets get to the first bit of information. How is the state of affairs out east?"

"You read the Courier, you know how it is…"

Christophe allowed himself to chuckle lightly. "Ah, yes. I heard all the Empire has to say. 'The collapse of the old-fashioned theocracy' and 'bringing the torch of western thought and culture to the east'. You don't take me for a fool, do you Habasi? No, wait, you haven't been to Cyrodiil in some time. Well, to put it simply, the Courier isn't truthful all the time. And It's only been getting worse and worse as time goes on. Unrest is high enough with the famine and no ruling emperor, so the Courier hasn't really given out one iota of verifiable information about Morrowind and the Marsh since Uriel was still on the throne."

Habasi frowned at the Doyen, but Christophe really couldn't determine why. He was about to ask his question again before Habasi decided to speak up "… Morrowind was good three years ago. It actually sounded like those statements you said just a moment ago. This one could see it with her eyes- the Tribunal's death, the rise of Hlaalu, the expansion of the Imperial Cult… It really did seem like things were going to go well over there. But then the Oblivion crisis occurred."

"And that's when real news became scarce and we made by with rumors."

Habasi nodded slowly. "The… Monsters that attacked Morrowind, they believed the best targets would be the Legions first, the Temple second… Within the first week three garrisons on 

Vaardenfel alone were in ruins. Habasi was frightened. Everyone was frightened. They turned to Hlaalu, thinking that their riches could somehow slay the Daedra. We were fools. Coins can do much, but they can not slay Daedra. The Hlaalu's most skilled agents could not kill the hordes, and their guards had to defend their cities. They were paralyzed. And with the legions crippled and the Hlaalu paralyzed, Imperial power in Morrowind was hamstung."

"That goes alone with some of the word we've got from there," the Redguard replied softly, as if to himself.

"… While the Hlaalu council fled to Tear to discuss how to combat the threat, two other Houses rose to the challenge. The Redoran and Indoril, both weakened in the modern age, allied together to fight the Daedra in Morrowind. The Redoran provided some of the finest warriors, many better than the legions, while the Temple mobilized their massive amounts of priests and their elite- the Ordinators. They began to fight back the Daedra menace. Within two weeks of the Alliance they closed the first gate, near Port Telvanni, and to the Hlaalu's shame it was the Ordinators who broke the siege at Balmora. When the emperor sealed the gates, it is true a love of Akatosh spread through the east, but… The Imperial legions were exhausted, along with House Hlaalu. The Redoran and the Indoril began to stress the traditional values of the dark elves… The people were quick to believe their saviors, or at least those who appeared to be their saviors. Soon the Temple had recovered to the point where they could stand without the Tribunal, while the Imperial Cult were condemned once more as outlanders."

"So how much influence does the west still have?"

Habasi licked her paw as she thought. "The East Empire Company is still in operation and there are still scattered garrisons about the land. Helseth is still king, but… That one is making a larger and larger leash for himself. He seems to be no longer content to be a puppet king. The Fighters Guild has branches open, but the Mage's Guild has closed theirs in Almalexia and Vivec… The offices of the Empire, the dukes and the counts, they still stand, but that has never carried much standing there anyway."

Christophe took a drink from a glass, "Think they'll revolt?"

"… This one does not know. They will attack the Marsh for certain. They need to replenish their slave pens."

"Speaking of that, what about the Marsh?"

"Habasi knows nothing about the Marsh other than they have recalled the XIIth."

"Well, then… I suppose that suffices," Christophe began, "Now, what about the Guild? How have we weathered the whole Dunmer revival?"

"That is a difficult issue. Christophe might know about a group called the Camonna Tong. They are our enemies and have attacked us more than once. They are not proper thieves- Thugs and thick-necks who are better at shaking down the weak than stealing from a worthy mark. Habasi 

took measures in the past to stop them, but with few guards, they have become more ambitious," Habasi explained, before pausing for a few seconds. "Christophe, to be simple, it is no longer safe in Morrowind."

The two were silent for a moment. Christophe closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, and then returned his gaze to Habasi. "… You are positive, Habasi, that Morrowind is in no way safe? As in our definition of safe?"

"Christophe must have heard of the murder of Big Helende. Stacey is also wounded, and this one does not think he will fully recover enough to lead us. Most of us have gone to Nersis, but even there Habasi felt like she was being hunted."

"Ah, and that's why you came to the city."

"And that is why Habasi came to the city."

The two fell silent again, staring at each other among the noise of the ship. "Now, the sugar," Habasi said at last.

"Yes, the sugar…" Christophe muttered, tossing the kahjiit the small pouch.

Habasi caught the pouch deftly and put it in her pocket. Without another word she stood and turned from Christophe, but apparently he wasn't quite through with her. "Habasi, what are you doing this afternoon?" he called out.

The kahjiit turned around, "This one doesn't want anything more to do with the Guild. Thought you knew that."

"No, this isn't about the Guild. Reagent Ocato is going to give his Sun's Rest address, and word on the street says its going to deal with the new emperor. It might be worth your time to hear it."

Habasi said nothing and left the ship, hardly giving Christophe a ghost of a response. The Redguard leaned back in his chair and watched her leave. He let a smirk break onto his face. "Sorry, kitten," he muttered under his breath, "But I'm afraid you'll still have plenty to do with the Guild…"

And with that he stood to go pay his tab and begin preparations for his nightly duties. Even if the stores were closed today, his tasks were never over.

* * *

Habasi roamed through the streets of the Imperial City with a sort of restlessness. Although her nerves had been cooled in one way with moon sugar back in her system, she also seemed to be agitated from her conversation with Christophe. She had never really enjoyed working with him when she was younger. Even back then the man had a very abrasive affect on her.

She surveyed her surroundings to put her mind at ease. An old technique she learned over the years of being a thief was to always keep an ear out for rumors, gleaning as much information as one could from tawdry gossip. Today the banter revolved around the massive influx of people who were in the city. The major strains involved the alleged arrival of the nobility, like the King of Sentinel, the Governor of Stros M'kai, or some Nordic Thane. Others said that the King of Mournhold had already checked into the Tiber Septum Hotel, while others still claimed that all the Knights of the Imperial Dragon were present and parading at the Bastion. Of course, there were other, less certain tales, like a drunken Nord claiming there was a flying dreugh near the palace, or a very rational young man passionately claiming that a mudcrab had taken up shopkeeping near the docks.

Normally, Habasi reasoned that only a third of these types of claims could be true, at best. But today, she wasn't so sure. There were many new people about in the city, or at least there couldn't have been this many normally. Maneuvering between horses and carriages Habasi made her way to the Arboretum, hoping to find a little solitude. Instead she found the largest mass of people she had yet seen around a stage that had been set up in a clearing. And unless her eyes deceived her, the person who stood on it was Battlemage Ocato. It seemed like she would catch that speech after all.


	5. New Orders

Hieronymus Lex stepped out of his carriage and gave a handful of septums to the coachman. "Thank you. I'll walk from here."

The coachman gave a respectful nod and turned around, heading in the direction of the Imperial Reserve. Not that Lex was paying much attention to him. The captain's eyes lay upon the glittering city in the distance. The Imperial City. The White Gold Tower dominated the horizon. Lex always had a deep fondness for the structure. It was a symbol of Imperial might and stability. It was if the spirit of the Empire had taken form into one majestic, invincible spire that could never be toppled. In this uncertain time, a symbol like that was necessary for the guardsman.

Lex was now next to the lake, at the start of the bridge that linked the shore to the City Island. He had two memories of this bridge. The first was when he had come from Bravil as one of the young men recommended for officer's training. He wasn't poor, but nothing in Bravil could compare to the City. As a youth, he was starstruck by its ornate presence. However, the second one was when he gazed upon before leaving for Anvil. For the older man, it seemed like his setting star- a herald for his remaining dark and obscure years.

But no longer. There had to be a reason this star of his was rising once more. It was not mere coincidence that he had returned to his beloved city. No, he reasoned, there was something nearly divine about it. It was as if Zenethar himself had swooped down from the heavens to give Lex the banner of righteousness and dubbed the captain the champion of the law. The Gray Fox was still at large, after all. This was his one, final chance. If Lex could succeed here, he would get a permanent reposting at the city. Truly a once in a lifetime opportunity was available, all he had to do was grasp it. The captain took a deep breath in, and started on the bridge, his bridge, to the Imperial City.

* * *

Lex strode confidently through the crowded streets with his newfound zeal. The city especially crowded today by tourists and nobles. But it didn't bother Lex. His pace was quick, yet it didn't stop him from enjoying the journey. "You, vagrants!" he called out to some shady looking people playing dice on the curb, "Take that trash off the streets!"

The men looked in surprise at the old captain's return, and quickly stopped their game. Lex smiled inwardly, impressed at the longevity of his influence. But then again, these were his streets. These were the paths he patrolled for years. Some romantic notion suddenly played in his heart that although he might physically have left the city, his vigilance never had. But these musings were cut short. "Wiglaf! You mead-faced villain! Off with you!" he yelled, pointing to an old drunk.

Much like the shady men, the drunk complied, shuffling away. Again, Lex couldn't help but enjoy himself. He passed a trio of Breton ladies who whispered about themselves as he drew near and preformed graceful curtsies as he passed. He tapped a nonexistent hat in return, which caused the ladies to break into gossip once again about the 'return of Captain Hieronymus'.

Currently, Lex's destination was the Bastion. The letter that the Countess had passed onto him stated that he was to meet Phillida at eleven o'clock; and the captain was nothing if not punctual. Indeed, today was too important to make a mistake. So he strode on, enjoying the City, imagining his reuniting with the old Phillida and what future benefits he would reap.

Lex stepped into the lobby of the Imperial Legion Offices and looked about. Nothing had changed. He took in a deep breath of air and confidently strode to the secretary who was seated in the middle of the room and working on some papers. "Guard Captain Hieronymus Lex to see Legion Commander Adamus Phillida," he said with a smart salute.

The secretary slowly looked up from his work and blinked at Lex. "Son, do you read the Courier? Phillida is dead."

Some of the color drained from Lex's face. "T-that can not be. Adamus Phillida is… Dead?"

"Murdered, even. It was the talk of the town for some time. Plastered all over the Courier. However, Captain Lex," the secretary said suddenly, breaking off the topic of death, "I do believe I have an appointment for you… Let me see…"

Lex stood dumbfounded with his lips slightly parted. It was if someone had knocked the wind from him. It was hard to comprehend that Phillida- his superior, mentor, and friend had died. However, there was little time for mourning, as the secretary looked up from his log. "Ah, yes, we've been expecting you. Please, enter the door behind me."

The secretary, now more friendly, stood and gestured to an ornate door behind him. The captain gave a wary look and paced past the man and opened the door. Upon entering the chamber, he gave it a looking over. This room was perhaps spartan at one point. By construction it was a cold, circular stone room, one that wouldn't seem out of place in a military building such as the Bastion. During Phillida's watch it was his personal office, Lex recalled, and had only the essentials. Now, however, the things that stood out were the gaudy and tasteless decorations that had now adorned the walls. Fine tapestries showing Legionary conquests and victories encircled Lex, and his eyes were also drawn to the fine silver that had been used in great amounts, from candelabras to plates. The furnishings had been imported from some foreign province, carefully engraved and finished to the point where they would have looked more in place at some High Rock castle than a military building. In fact, after a thorough inspection it was evident that the only thing that was related to the Guard in the room were the stacks of paperwork and a set of show armor in one corner, which served more to impress some peasant than protect the wearer. Lex was disgusted.

Sitting at the rich desk sat a man, perhaps in his late forties. The man was a heavy Imperial, and apparently an important officer in the Legion or Guard, given his armor. He had a thick round face of a vivid shade of red and two small, beady black eyes under some folds of skin. His short, black, and curly hair seemed to be well maintained, and he was perfectly shaven. While he seemed fat at first glance, Lex could tell that a man of his build had a sort of natural strength and 

should not be underestimated. At the moment, the man was absorbed with writing on some paperwork, constantly moving his large lips silently as if he were speaking. The captain coughed slightly and saluted. "Guard Captain Hieronymus Lex to see the Legion Commander," he announced simply.

The man looked up from his writing with a look that was at first vexed, but quickly became a large, slightly fabricated smile. "Captain Lex!" he declared, setting aside his quill and standing, "How good it is to see you!"

The man walked over to Lex and shook his hand furiously. Lex returned the shake and gave him a quizzical look. "Don't you remember me, Lex? It is I, Giovanni Civello. I trust you remember me?"

After a moment Lex nodded slightly. "Yes, I do. Forgive me, it has been some time since I've been to the city. I take it that you are the new Legion Commander? I didn't know about Phillidia."

Lex had actually not remembered in any way Civello, but the man adamantly seemed to have known him. The commander nodded to the inquiry and at the name of his precursor frowned. "Ah, yes, it really is a pity about Commander Phillida," Civello began, looking down in some sort of sorrow, "The City doesn't know the man they've lost…"

Lex resisted raising a brow, as Phillida had been in retirement last time he had checked and Legion Commander in name only. "… Indeed. Now, Commander you said you wished to speak of the new legions?"

Civello shook his hand and head. "Oh, Hieronymus- I can call you Hieronymus, can't I?- why must we talk of such vocational matters right now? Come and sit, brother. Yes, there. It really has been too long since we've spoken!"

Lex slowly took a seat in an ornate chair in front of Civello's desk. The chair Lex sat in was rather short, making the now seated Civello seem much taller than he truly was. The captain watched the commander with a feeling of unease while a syrupy smile spread across the latter's lumpy face. "Now, how is your wife?" Civello began with an air of amiability.

"… I've never wed."

"Oh?" Civello said, taken slightly aback, "Ah, forgive me, I must've been thinking of someone else."

The commander renewed his smile. There was something that made Lex uncomfortable about it. The two looked at each other in an awkward silence for a few moments before Lex decided he had to break it. "About the legions, sir…"

"Ah! Concerned about work are we? And your assignment? You do know that I've made you an acting Guard Captain, correct?"

Lex frowned, as Civello's response mentioned absolutely nothing of the task he had. "Yes, I've heard."

The commander stood from his chair in a fashion that pegged Lex as premeditated. "I know that you loved that job. Yes, perhaps that's why you never had a wife, eh? You were already married to the job? Of course, you know that your record was flawless. One of the best captains we've ever had!"

Lex listened in silence. The commander began to walk back and forth slowly and nodded to himself. "Yes, and because of your flawless record I've called you back. No, don't protest, it was the least I could do. You see, I like to have men like you in the City- honest, pragmatic men. We need them here, not in some faraway port. So that is why I used my considerable influence to take you from Anvil to here. Yes, kind of me, I know. Ah, Hieronymus, you should've seen the paperwork! But it was worth it, oh yes, worth it to have you here. And do you know why?"

Lex was now stifling a frown, having absolutely no idea why Civello was talking about this. "Sir, about the legions…"

"It is because I want to be your friend, Hieronymus," Civello continued, in no way acknowledging Lex's question, "I think that the two of us will get along famously. It is important to have friends, Hieronymus, especially in this dark day and age. And what better friend to have in me- the Legion Commander! So, you see, this can be seen as the start of a long friendship. In fact, brother, you could see this reassignment as a sort of… Gift, yes? A gift from me to you. Oh, no, don't protest, you owe me nothing. Your friendship is a fine gift in return. I take it you enjoy your gift?"

Civello was now pacing back and forth, waving his hand in large, sweeping gestures. Lex had a nagging feeling that the whole affair had been somehow rehearsed, and Civello was reciting lines. "Very much so, sir."

Civello chuckled lightly. "Very good, very good! You see, Hieronymus? We're going to be best of friends. I can feel it. Can't you?"

"Yes, sir. Now, about those legions…"

"Hieronymus, I'll be frank. We can be frank, you know. The Empire is in danger. There are threats within our very borders: the Brotherhood, the-"

"Sir, I would request information about my assignment," Lex interjected forcefully.

Civello stopped in midsentence with a frustrated frown and sat down. "Of course," he said, checking the annoyed tone in his voice, "You see, Hieronymus, I would've spoke of it already, but there is supposed to be a third man here, yes? Mmm, a third man. A legionnaire, you see. A Knight of the Garland, if you would believe, and a very important and skilled man. I'm sure you'll also get along famously, yes, I am sure of it. We can be three great friends, all together."

The man suddenly had an odd, knowing gleam in his eyes, but it vanished as soon as it arrived. "… I see, sir. And who may I ask is this man?" Lex said respectfully, his face betraying none of his internal discomfort at the whole affair.

"Erasmus Servius, the commander of the XIIth legion. He has just got in from- Oh speak of the devil!" Civello said, the sly grin quickly returning to his face.

Lex turned, looking behind him. Standing in the doorway was an older man, most likely in his early fifties. However, his age certainly didn't make him seem weak. True, his build was more slender than solid, but even under the gaps in his armor one could see a very well toned body. His armor itself was one of a high-ranking legionnaire, but it was in dire need of maintenance. Some pieces were missing, and from one of his pauldrons dangled a variety of old charms and fetishes. He didn't carry himself with much of the common legionary pride, for his posture was horrible. His face was well sculpted and he might have been handsome in youth, but now he was horridly scarred, and he even was missing one eye. His long black hair had streaks of gray in it and tied into a ponytail. Lex's first impulse was to demand that the man don the proper uniform, but Civello didn't seem that interested in his appearance. "Ah, Erasmus, so glad you could join us! Come sit-"

The commander was taken aback when Servius began walking on his own accord and sat on another chair near the desk. His motley armor seemed to make more noise than the standard uniform, causing Lex a good deal of irritation. "I'm sorry I'm late," the newcomer began, "You should see what it's like outside…"

Servius trailed off and looked idly at his fingernails. Civello forced a good-natured laugh at the apparent disrespect to himself, the Legion Commander. "Oh ho, indeed Erasmus. It's because of Ocato's speech today. I trust the travel from the marsh was agreeable?"

Without looking up from his fingernails Servius made a grunt. He seemed to be either very stupid or very apathetic. Yet despite the outward appearance Lex couldn't help shake a feeling that the man had something else to him. Even Lex, who had no love of rumors or gossip, had some idea of who Erasmus Servius was. He remembered that he was from the XIIth and that he was from the Marsh, but other than that he was at a total loss. After a new moment of ackward silence (Which didn't seem to phase Civello nor gain the attention of Servius), Civello did speak up. "Now, gentlemen, I do suppose why I've called you two to this city. It is because-"

"Get to the point," Servius interjected, snapping his head up to look Civello in the eyes.

For the first time, the Legion Commander's guard broke, and an unsettled look formed on his fat face. He laughed nervously. "Now, now, Erasmus, that's no way to speak to the Legion Commander, now is it! But we are friends, so we can speak frankly. So I forgive your transgression, as it showed that you can be frank! How I enjoy the company of men who can think for themselves-"

"Sir, please," Lex said, now emboldened, "I think that it is our best interest that we talk of what you called us here for!"

Civello had another flash of agitation. "I decide what is best for us, Lex!" he yelled, but quickly put his anger aside. "… I mean, if that's what you want, Hieronymus, of course we can. We're all friends. You see, the first reason I brought you here was to tell you that Lex, you are here to help… Servius get reacquainted with Colovia and-"

"I don't need any reacquaintance, Civello," the older man interrupted again, "So if our business is over, I'd like to leave…"

Lex was once more stunned by the impudence of his counterpart. How that man had risen through the ranks was beyond him. Servius now had a wisp of a grin of his face and a shine of… something in his one gray eye. Lex couldn't make out what. However, there wasn't much time to dwell on the newcomer, as Civello coughed once to get the captain's attention. "Actually, Erasmus, there is one more reason I called you two all the way over here. It might seem, ah, 'off the record', but like I said, we can be frank."

Civello smiled again and sat comfortably in his seat. He allowed his thick finger to overlap as he eyed both men in front of him. "Now lads," he began, although Servius was obviously older than he, "To be honest, I know that the two of you have been slightly unhappy with your careers. And that is the second reason why I brought you here, to the city. Now that you have returned to the city, I pray that the two of you will be very content. You are content, are you not? Very good!"

He asked the question quickly, so that Lex had no time to answer. "You see, I want us to be friends. Good friends. And now, you see, I've given you posts here in Cyrodiil, (posts that are very difficult to obtain, mind you! You should've seen the paperwork!) as tokens of my friendship. No, no! No need to repay me! I just want the two of you to remember… If any nasty affair happens to occur… That I am your friend. And friends help friends. I am right, am I not? We're all friends?"

A self-satisfied smile emerged on the commander's face. Again Lex could feel some sort of bizarre emotion, some indescribable feeling, coming off from the man. The three sat in silence until Servius coughed. "I'll keep it in mind. Now if you don't mind, I'm off to see the City. Without that man," he said, turning his head to Lex and flashing a terrible smile.

The man stood, turned, and exited the room without a word, as if he had wanted to leave for some time. Lex breathed in awkwardly and looked back to Civello. "Sir, I trust our business is over?"

Civello looked up for a moment, presumably not expecting a question. "Oh? Business? Yes, we're through. You can go to your rounds, Captain Lex," he stated, the amiable tone in his voice draining with every word.

Lex stood, gave a smart salute, and turned for the door. As he reached for the handle he heard the voice of Civello call out from behind him, "Wait, Hieronymus! There is one last thing!"

Lex turned and looked back to Civello. The commander looked up from his papers for a moment and began to speak. "Yes, today there is going to be a Sun's Rest speech in the Arboretum. I trust you shall attend?"

"Of course, sir."

"Very good! I'm glad I can count on you!"

Lex then left the room, leaving Giovanni Civello alone with his paperwork. The commander smiled once more. The conversation didn't go exactly as he planned, but that was of no special concern. There was plenty of time, after all.

* * *

Lex had left the Bastion putting his odd encounter with the Legion Commander aside. Indeed, it was a gloriously sunny day and he no longer had to worry about having to work with that terrible veteran. That could only mean one thing. He was to begin his great hunt anew. Lex allowed a grin to creep upon his face before being startled by a voice yelling from behind. "Cap'n! Cap'n Lex! Is it really you, cap'n?"

Lex could see a youthful Breton, donned in the chainmail of the legion, run up to him. The captain allowed his grin to break into a true smile. "Guilliam? Guilliam, is that really you?"

The younger man smiled. "Of course, sir! Ah, cap'n, it's so good to see you! I thought you'd be gone forever when they sent you to Anvil!"

"If the Fox is at play I'll never rest!" Lex laughed, "And yourself? What of you? How have you fared the past year?"

"Ah, well, cap'n, but we can talk of this another time, another place. Oh, and did you know I've been posted under you again? I couldn't believe it at first, but there was the order, clear as daylight! We'll be working together again! Just like old times!"

Lex nodded firmly. "Excellent. With the two of us reunited I wager that Christophe is shaking in his boots!"

The two broke into a quick, enthusiastic laugh. While they were doing so, another person, this time a young Bosmer girl, hurried over to where they stood. "Guilliam? Guilliam, where are you- Oh?"

Lex took a glance at the girl and instantly felt like he had known her before. In fact, he had a feeling that she was important to him somehow. His stopped his laughing and stared her straight in the eyes. She seemed very normal for a Bosmer- nothing about her was out of the ordinary. She had a plain face and normal hair, and like Guilliam clad in legionary chainmail. She seemed to notice Lex's stare and gave him a formal salute. "Sir! You must be Guard Captain Hieronymus Lex. My name is Kirania, sir. I'm to work under you."

Guilliam laughed again, still in a good mood. "Ah, Kirania, you don't need to be so uptight around the cap'n. Trust me, the rumors aren't true. He's a great man. Sir," he said, addressing Lex, "This is Kirania. She joined up not to long ago, and we're partnered for most watches. So, when I was assigned to work under you again, she naturally was to. Don't worry, cap'n, she's a smart girl. She can help out a lot."

Lex nodded slightly, not taking his eyes off the girl. She tried her hardest to smiled cutely, but it couldn't throw off Lex's suspicions. She gave off an odder air than Civello, and the captain didn't like it at all. Guilliam noticed the atmosphere that had quickly developed over the three and gave a nervous grin. "Hey, cap'n, why don't we find a place to eat, eh? We can catch up there."

Lex nodded slowly, looking away from Kirania. "Alright then. Lead the way…"

* * *

Guilliam was a young man, no older than his midtwenties. He still had a bright and flawless face, betraying his inexperience, but was able to carry himself with an air that he wasn't totally new to the service. He wasn't a very unique looking person, nearly all his features were average for a Breton, except for the fact he was slightly more handsome than most. He spoke quickly and often tripped over words when excited, which he obviously was now. "By thunder, capn'," he feverishly began, "It all went downhill once you left! The city went mad. You replacement- I forgot his name- he was terrible! You should've seen his policies. He acted as if he wanted those thieves to get away with crimes. I ain't kidding, sir don't laugh! That fool couldn't guard a lockbox, let alone that capital."

Lex chuckled slightly, more at ease with his young friend. "Guilliam, it's very bad to be a flatterer."

"I'm not flattering you, cap'n, words of Akatosh! I'm telling you the truth!"

The three were walking down the main road of the city, in the Elven Gardens, looking for a place to eat. They hadn't met with much success, as it was Sun's Rest. Nearly every shop was closed, and the ones that could afford to be open were now catering to the rich foreigners who had came to the city, not mere guards. Their walk, however, was soon broken. Guilliam suddenly stopped and turned his body totally to Lex. Kirania did likewise. "Cap'n, you know that they have all the guard routes posted? On every corner, pretty much. Any thief worth his salt would know how to dodge these routes. The new captain doesn't even let us deviate from this pattern!"

"Does he now?"

"Crime has increased tenfold! That one store, the Copious Coinpurse, might go out of business soon because some group picked it clean. And don't even think about going to the waterfront nowadays. The closed the Census and Exercise because of these crimes, you know. There was this big shipment in from this one place in Skyrim, Dawnhold, or something, and somebody jacked it all in the warehouses! Can you believe it? The broke INTO the warehouse and stole everything inside. And of course all the old bureaucrats complained to the captain, and he denies the whole thing was the guard's fault. A few weeks later the books don't balance at all, the Empire loses a fortune in taxes, and Ocato lays off the whole lot of them!"

"To be fair," Kirania put in quietly, "The Empire can't afford organizations that lose that sort of capital. You know the debt they're in."

"Oh, the debt? Well, dammit, there are things you can do besides shut down the Census and Exercise. Besides, the Empire coins the septims. It's not like they cant just make more money-"

"Now Guilliam, its not quite that simple," Lex began, but the youth cut him off once more.

"Fine, fine. But even besides the debt, there are plenty of problems that the Empire can deal with. I mean, the famine for one. Or those blasted revolts in Morrowind? And all that the Empire does is talk about debt, making it the source of all problems. It's infuriating-"

"Guilliam, must we speak of politics?" Lex asked with a sigh, "I really don't care for it."

"Sorry, sir," the younger man responded quickly, "But back on topic, the cities really in trouble. The crime is amazing."

"Well, of course. Without me, the Thieves' Guild has probably grown exponentially, or at least it sounds like it has from you."

"Come captain," Kirania broke into the conversation, "Don't tell me you really believe in that Guild?"

Lex gave her a look so serious that it ended that line conversation before it began and caused the girl to look at her feet in embarrassment. "Sorry, sir," she muttered.

Guilliam shook his head. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. We just have strong feelings about that guild."

The three stood in a silence until Kirania decided to speak up again. "Weren't we going to eat…?"

Lex shook his head. "Nothing is open, it seems. Regardless, it's almost time. We should head to the Arboretum. We can't miss the speech."

"Blast, I forgot about that," Guilliam replied, "What a pain…"

Lex shook his head in amusement and started to the road heading south. The two others followed their captain en route to the Arboretum. Lex had never enjoyed speeches, at least ones he himself wasn't giving. However, this one promised to be different. Lex was not a political man, but even he knew that Ocato had plenty to address, lest he start a riot. Indeed, there was a distinct air of uneasiness that had settled upon the Imperial City. The venire of opulence that the newcomer gave couldn't hide it, even to Lex.

He glanced around, keeping his eternal vigil up. Behind him his two subordinates were arguing about something petty. Guilliam was always hotheaded and even a bit of a gossip. It was a pity that the boy hadn't outgrown it yet. As for Kirania… While Lex felt odd around her, that was no grounds for suspicion. Indeed, she would most likely be useful, as he never had many recruits who wished their first assignment to be chasing the Gray Fox. Hieronymus Lex kept his gaze in front of him while he walked to the Arboretum, unaware of how import this speech of Ocato's would be.


	6. After the Service

Maro Rufus wouldn't really classify himself as a religious man, but every holiday he made sure to go to the Temple. It all had its roots in his grandmother. He could imagine the woman right now, old and wrinkled, waving her cane about. Her venerable back was hunched at nearly comic proportions. "Maro, dear," she would rasp out, "You must always be sure go to the Temple! Be there every Sundas before the others! Be there every festival, praying while others idle their time away! Every feast day you miss is a day the Gods become angry! And the proud Tarquin line can't have that!" she would finish with a yell.

"Mara have mercy on her bones," Maro muttered out of the blue, earning him a sush from a young Breton lady to his right.

The Imperial blushed slightly and looked back to the priest, going about the standard rituals of the festival. Maro's attention was kept all of ten seconds before he began to tap his feet and look about the makeshift sanctum he was in. The Temple of the One had been converted into a shrine to Akatosh, meaning the Nine Divines needed a new home in the Imperial City. Unfortunately for them, land was expensive and hard to come by nowadays. The result was a converted tradehouse, which seemed to reflect business virtues rather than sacred virtues to the pious. To a man like Maro, it was merely a very hot, humid, and uncomfortable place.

Thankfully, listening to the chants of the priests and the lighting of some torches wasn't the only thing one did at temple. On the contrary, it was actually interesting today for Maro, as the diversity in the congregation was outstanding. For some reason beyond his understanding people from throughout the Empire had been filing into the City, which made a people-watcher very satisfied. Maro could pick off a few well-known faces from the crowd- The elderly King Gothryd of Daggerfall and the kahjiit Jobasha, who opened up shop right near The Best Defense, for example- and there were many others who were also important. How could you sort out the powerbrokers from the rapscallions? Well, the former had fancy clothes on, with many jewels. That was enough for Maro.

Sitting at his left was Varnado, who also didn't seem that keen on attending the service. However, Maro was able to drag the Redguard to the temple this morning anyway. It was an odd thing, as the two hardly spent any time together outside business hours. Indeed, more than one rumor went about the lines that they really didn't enjoy each other company at all, but the fact that they ran the same store seemed to disprove it. Maro stared at Varnado for a moment, as if he wished to enter conversation, but his companion was reading a book of all things. A book, during service!

"He's going to catch holy hell," Maro muttered again, garnering another sush.

Maro turned to look at the lady. She was indeed pretty and had on a fancy blue dress of a variety not seen often in the City. Maro quickly came to the conclusion that she was from High Rock and came in with the surge of tourists. He spent the rest of the service in a daydream painting the portrait of her life, a young woman from Anticlere, and the adventures she went about doing. To daydream was better to listen to the dry rituals, by any means.

A half an hour later he snapped to attention when everyone rose from their seats and flied out. Varnado had a quick pace leaving, which Maro made an effort to match. He caught up to the Redguard when they had left the temple, and he called out to his companion, "Varnado, wait! Wait! Hold up!"

Varnado stopped and turned around, "Yes, Rufus?," he asked, as if he were a mother to an irritating child.

"Come, don't you wish to speak to all the interesting people? We can't leave the grounds without talking to somebody. It just isn't proper. And there are so many interesting people about from all over the Empire!"

"You can stay if you want, Rufus. I'm not going to stop you," he responded quickly.

"No, no. You've got to come as well. It's downright un-Cyrodiilic to just go about leaving temple the moment its over."

"I'm not even from Cyrodiil, Rufus. Now, I've got work to do."

With that Varnado turned and walked away. From the direction he was walking, it seemed to be the trade district. Maro frowned for a moment, then turned and walked into the crowd of people who were speaking amongst themselves. In particular, he was looking for the pretty young lady he had sat next to. Of course this was easier said than done. The plethora of worshipers made a labyrinth of people in the small street, and a noisy one at that.

"… Yes, I did see that play. Very underrated in my opinion. The man is one of the best playwrights of our time, and…"

"… Such lovely jewels you have? You must enlighten me to where you bought them! Are they…?"

"… No, I wouldn't go to Morrowind these days. You know they have the gall not only to revive slavery but enslave Imperials…?"

These were but a few among the many conversations that Maro picked up from the crowd. He didn't pay them much heed as his eyes scanned the crowd. Eventually his keen eye eventually picked out the blue dressed lady near a fountain, speaking with two men, one an Imperial and the other a very short Bosmer. He quickened his pace and stood next to the three and smiled good-naturedly. The trio ignored him for almost five minutes before he coughed slightly to gain their attention. They acknowledged his existence with a quick glance and were about to go back to their discussion before Maro quickly broke into the conversation. "Hello! What lovely weather we're having!"

The three stopped conversing and looked at him again. The Imperial, and old, scarred veteran of the wars gave him a vexed look. The Bosmer, who had the most curious tattoos on his face, turned up his nose. The lady looked to the side where a couple of knights were advancing on the group and shook her head. She then gave a thin smile to the newcomer. "… Yes, I suppose it is."

Maro's smile widened. "My name is Maro Rufus," he began, introducing himself, "And I run The Best Defense here in the City."

The Imperial snorted haughtily and the Bosmer turned up his nose even more, if possible. The lady looked about her companions and laughed nervously, yet melodically. However, upon hearing the name of his shop her ears perked up ever so slightly. "A shopkeeper, I see?"

Maro nodded, feeling even more at ease. "Yes. I sell light armor. The very best. And may I ask who you are…?"

"You may," the lady said softly, reflecting a disciplined upbringing, "My name is Lynette Flyte. I am the daughter of the Viscount of Anticlere."

'Anticlere!', Maro thought, 'She is from Anticlere? This can not be a coincidence!'

Lady Flyte the gestured to the Imperial man standing to her left. "This is Mr. Erasmus Servius."

The scarred Imperial gave a condescending smile to Maro. "Knight of the Garland, from Deep Argonia."

"Deep Argonia?"

"Yes, boy, Deep Argonia. Right on the border of Murkwood. That any better?"

It really wasn't, but Maro nodded his head quickly. Servius was a scary man, with his legionary armor, deep scars, and eyepatch. He didn't want to speak to the frightening person for any longer than he had to. Servius realized that he had frightened Maro and smirked at the smaller man, but Lady Flyte seemed to realize what was going on. "And this man is," she said in a louder voice, "The esteemed Ra'Karth-Dro, the and the King of Torval."

Maro frowned, now looking at the Bosmer, "Ra'Karth-Dro? That's a very odd name for a Wood Elf."

Servius laughed, Lady Flyte put her hand to her mouth, and Ra'Karth-Dro hissed, all at the same time. "I am NOT a Bosmer! I am Kahjiit!"

"… Oh. I'm sorry. It's just that you looked like a Bosmer, so I figured-"

"Ohmes! I am not Bosmer, I am Ohmes."

Servius snickered once more while the Kahjiit fumed in anger. The four stood in silence for some moments. Not that Maro minded nor noticed, as he was too busy looking at the Lady Flyne. She was by no means flawless- her proportions weren't perfect at all. However, she could wear her clothes incredibly well, and had the most expressive brown eyes Rufus had ever seen in his life. And although there were more attractive women to be found in the City, Rufus was immediately enthralled by the woman.

Lady Flyte, like her companions, looked less than comfortable with the Imperial in the discussion. "Well, Mr. Rufus, we were just speaking of Ocato's speech. The one he is going to deliver this afternoon. You've lived in this city, correct? Is he truly as a commanding orator as they say?"

"I'm not quite sure. I normally don't pay attention to the Elder Council and whatnot. Old mages, all of them."

With that, Servius outright laughed, "What a colossal intellect you've got! I say, I'm so glad you introduced yourself to us, Maro Rufus! Mara forbid we miss this local flavor!"

Maro opened his mouth and took a step towards the legionnaire, but Lady Flyte put her parasol between them as soon as she sensed discord. "Why Mr. Servius! Please, mind your manners while with our guest."

Erasmus Servius renewed his smirk. "My apologizes, my lady," he said, his mocking glance affixed to Rufus, "Actually, it's time that I go. I need to… Make my rounds. Good morning my lady, my liege," he finished, nodding to Lady Flyte and Ra'Karth-Dro respectively.

Servius turned and walked away, in the direction to the Imperial Bastion. While Maro lost interest quickly, Lady Flyte kept a close eye on the soldier. Her shimmering brown eyes narrowed as he walked farther and farther away until he was lost among the crowd. For a few moments she was brooding and lost in thought, but snapped back into the world with a glance to Ra'Karth-Dro, who made a small noise; the equivalent to a human clearing their throat. The Kahjiit, still scowling, spoke up himself in a low growl. "Yes, Lynette, I shall leave too. I have far more important affairs to do than entertain commoners, especially ones who don't know their place. Shall you accompany me?"

Lady Flyte smiled broadly. "Not right now, your honor, but I shall meet you tonight at the Tibur Septum for supper, correct?"

"Do as you wish. Good health to you, Lynette… And plebian."

The Kahjiit turned and walked in the opposite direction of Erasmus Servius. After he had taken hardly ten steps at least seven hidden Kahjiit guards appeared and followed him. Even Maro's limited magical knowledge realized that they had cast some spell to conceal themselves, and the fact unnerved him. Lady Flyte turned to Maro and cast her smile upon the Imperial. "Forgive my companion's rude behavior. The Kahjiit in particular is a good friend of mine, and is quite agreeable."

Maro merely smiled in return. "I am sure my lady…"

The Breton nodded softly. Another moment of silence occurred, which would be ackward to any except for Maro. Lady Flyte coughed uncomfortably. "Now, Mr. Rufus, I really must be going-"

"Lady Flyte!" Maro broke in, "How about you come to my shop sometime? I can fit you for a set of light armor. It's the best in the city!"

Her response was a reluctant half smile, "Oh, that would… Give me much pleasure, Mr. Rufus," she said at last, after choosing the right words.

Maro, overjoyed, beamed at the woman, "Oh, oh! Very good! Remember, it's the Best Defense! Right in the trade district! You can't miss it- you can ask anyone, they'll know! I'll be there any time, any time!"

With that he ran off in the direction of the trade district. Lady Flyte smiled, this time craftily rather than blissfully. One of the guards with the flame shields stepped up to her and bowed. His face showed more than a little concern and disapproval. "My lady, please," he began, "You should not associate with random riffraff you meet off the streets. What if he were one of Erasmus'-"

"He was not, and furthermore it is not your place to question my actions," she replied in a very curt and businesslike tone.

The lady then turned to the guard and gave him one of her dazzling smiles, her attitude turning one hundred eighty degrees. "Besides, I gained a something important."

The guard said nothing, so Lady Flyte took her own cue to speak. "An ally."

She smiled once more and opened her blue parasol, blocking the sun's rays. She pointed west. "Now, gentlemen, let us go to the academy! I hear there is a functioning orrery! Could you imagine it? We should have father build such structures back home; the culture is inferior to that of this city! And speaking of culture…"

* * *

"It's a date!" Maro declared as he burst into his shop, the door slamming into the wall.

Varnado looked up from some paperwork at the noisy entrance. "What are you talking about?"

Maro laughed once as he walked over to his desk and sat. "I told you, Varnado, it's a date. I've got a date."

The Redguard's brow shot up suddenly. He set his quill into his inkwell and looked at Maro with a suspicious look. "You've got to be kidding me, Rufus. You can't get a date. You're a failure with women- Hell, you're a failure at everything."

"Wrong, Varnado," Maro said, shaking his head, "I've got a bona fied date. Which means I win the pot, but that's besides the point. And you'll never guess who."

Varnado picked up his quill and went back to his work. Maro waited in anticipation for a good minute before he realized that his business partner wasn't going to ask who it was. "No, it's actually Lynette Flyte, of Anticlere."

Varnado snorted without looking up from his work. Maro took some offence and stood from his table (Where he had made absolutely no progress in his day's work) and looked to the other man. "What's with the snort, Varnado? Don't believe me?"

"Rufus do you know what Anticlere even is?" there was a slight pause, showing that Maro was familiar with the term but didn't really know it. "… It was a sovereign state before the Warp in the West. If she's a Flyte- which she isn't because you've made this all up, she's the heiress to a noble name. She wouldn't be caught dead socializing with you. You're so damn dense sometimes."

"Well, then you'll feel silly when she comes over here later."

"You caught me there, Rufus…" Varnado trailed off, focused more on his ledger than his companion.

Maro put his hands in his pockets and walked over to his desk. He sat down again, but his shaky leg seemed to show that he really wasn't in the mood to work. Indeed, the man could never really keep his mind on work. He picked up his quill dejectedly, flashing a glance to Varnado to see if he couldn't whip up more conversation, but eventually went about scribbling in the margins of his ledger.

The thick book didn't paint a very flattering portrait of his finances. Maro was nothing if not fiscally conservative, yet despite his stinginess if business didn't pick up he would have to go into… debt. He shuddered involuntarily. 'Debt'. He despised the word more than any other in the dictionary. It made sense, knowing the history he had with it. He gazed idly at the paper, tapping his quill.

_Shipments: 13/5/434: Three sets of mithril armor, five sets of fur armor. 2000 Drakes._

_Shipments: 20/5/ 434: Two sets of leather armor, one set of fur. 690 Drakes._

_Shipments: 28/5/434: Elven cuirass, three armor's hammers. 550 Drakes._

_Shipments: 1/6/434: Elven helm, one set of fur armor, tongs, light armor manual. 500 Drakes._

He added the total up. 3740- It wasn't a pretty number. Maro turned to the strongbox on the ground, right near his desk. He put his hand on the mahogany top and slid his key into the lock. Inside were his entire savings of 4000 drakes. Tomorrow, when the collectors would come, he would have less than three hundred septums to his name. He closed the box once more and sat upright. "Varnado!" he declared, "Business… Is bad!", finishing with a melodramatic finger in the air.

Varnado slammed his ledger shut and stood up. "That's it! That's it! I'm leaving," he said, standing from his desk.

Maro stood as well, now concerned with Varnado's disposition "Wait, Varnado, what do you mean? Where are you going?"

"Out, Rufus, out. I'm just going out."

"But you never go out! You're always cramped up in here like some vampire! Where are you going?

Varnado walked across the room, en route to the door, "I just want… A little fresh air, and a little space."

"Varnado, you're not usually like this. What's the matter? You look positively angry."

The redguard made no reply and left the store. It was quite the odd event. Maro bit his bottom lip, "Was it something I said…?"

Maro paced away from his desk, leaving his ledger wide open, and walked to the middle of the room. His pondering involved where Varnado could've ran off to, and why. The why couldn't be determined yet, he reasoned, but the where could. Varnado liked cultural and intellectual things in his spare time, that much Maro knew. And then it clicked. "That speech!," Maro said aloud, "Aha!"

Maro grinned confidently as he strode to the door and undid the latch. He felt brilliant upon solving this most difficult of puzzles. He opened the door wide, letting the summer sun in. Before he left, though, he turned back into the shop and bade it farewell with a wave before heading to the Arboretum.

* * *

Maro stood in the massive crowd in the Arboretum. He could see a colossal stand in the center of a clearing where Ocato would stand, although now there were just high-ranking guardsmen on it. His eye caught that Erasmus Servius standing on top, looking very professional. It hadn't occurred to him that Servius was important enough to warrant standing on the stand during the address.

People mingled about him. It was a good thing that Maro didn't mind crowds. On the contrary, he liked to see all the new faces in them, as it kept everyday life fresh. That's one of the reasons he decided to open shop in the Imperial City, despite its expense. After all, they say that there is only one city in Tamriel, and Maro couldn't imagine living anywhere but this one. Yes, city life was the life for him.

Maro felt a pickpocket' hand slide into the pocket of his breeches, but he never kept anything in those. That was one drawback of city life he needed to. When he opened shop crime was a problem, but where wasn't it? Everywhere he had lived he had had at least one problem with a Kahjiit or Bosmer who still couldn't quite grasp the concept of private property. Under the last guard captain (who's name eluded Maro at the time) the problems were better, but when he was relocated (Maro heard it was to Skingrad) the crime got worse again. So worse in fact that Maro now kept all his valuables in a little pouch he donned about his neck. He had sewn it himself and felt very crafty doing so.

What he couldn't comprehend now was why so many people were here for this speech. Normally the Sun's Rest address got an average size audience, but he was surrounded by people from not just all over the City, but the empire! At that time it occurred, even to Maro, that his speech might be an important one, even more so during these troubling times. But what it would address? That was anyone's guess.


	7. Sun's Rest

The Arboretum was a large area with plants and statues. It was a nice place to take a walk, and for the occasional artist to sketch a flower or two. Normally it was home to only a few people, but that wasn't the case today. Indeed, the uncharacteristically large crowd that had descended upon the area was amazing. The mass of bodies milling about the area made the locality unbearably hot, which was made worse under the hot summer sun. There was a loud sound that penetrated the area- a cacophony of hundreds of voices all speaking at once. For Habasi, it was murder to her sensitive ears. She had worked her way into a corner where two walls met to gain some solace from the noise, but it was to no avail. Yet she didn't leave.

No one was going to leave. That obvious fact dawned on Hieronymus Lex as he stood upon the large platform that had been constructed in the area. It was a temporary structure that would resemble more of a scaffold than a stately podium if various fabrics didn't cover it up. The platform had room for more than one person, and he stood alongside many of the other great legionaries and guardsmen that had came to the city. To his left was Giovanni Civello, and some ways down the line Erasmus Servius stood at attention. The other guard captains were present as well, along with other generals from the provinces. There was even a member of the Order of the Imperial Dragon about. Of course, Lex knew that all these soldiers were merely decoration. The man of the hour was Regent Ocato, who stood in the very middle of the platform. Lex could discern that the Altmer was sweating, but he assumed it was from the damnedable heat. Besides, it wasn't proper for him to survey the battlemage at this time.

Maro Rufus had not paid attention to any of the soldiers though, as he was looking for Varnado. He had half a mind to look for Lady Flyte, but even he realized that he wouldn't be able to access the Noble's Box, which was also constructed solely for this event. He had milled about the mass of people for a good half an hour, and he hadn't seen his friend at all. But then again, it would be hard to find a troll in this crowd, let alone a Redguard. Yet Maro wasn't too keen on giving up any sort of search, and probably would have gone on for another hour or two if he didn't hear a deafening blast of horns which silenced the crowd.

Everyone turned their attention to the center platform where the noise originated to look at Ocato. The silence that had fallen upon the crowd was unnerving to Lex who stood near the regent. The attention of thousands of eyes, the dead silence that had replaced the chaotic buzz, the oppressive heat… It made the captain nervous, and he wasn't even the one to speak. He noticed Civello take a few steps forward and unroll a large scroll he held in one hand, "By the laws of the Empire and the grace of the Nine, I hereby present Regent Ocato of the most ancient and respected Elder Council."

His voice pierced the silence like an arrow, and when he had finished the lack of noise in the Arboretum was even more evident. Civello bowed and walked back a few steps to take his place alongside Ocato. The Altmer took a deep breath in and looked about the mass of people that had appeared.

"People of the Empire…" he began, his normally commanding voice shaking very slightly, "I stand before you on this stand as I always have. Not as a battlemage, nor as a despot, nor as councilman but as a citizen serving his civic duties. Yes, it is the spirit of all Imperial subjects- an essence that is instilled in their very being- to serve out these civic duties honestly and dispassionately. To do just that is the promise I had made in the past, during my previous addresses, and I have stayed true to it. And that is why I have come to you all today, during Sun's Rest. To discuss this most grave of duties that had fallen upon me."

"Selecting a new emperor is the most important of any duties that could ever fall upon a councilman. I need not remind you all the very unique circumstances that are present. The emperor had no heir, and no living family. The distant relatives are either dead or unfit to rule. So for the first time in many, many years a new lineage must be founded. The first thing that should be evident to anyone is that such a decision- a decision that will affect the future and direction of every single soul on Tamriel, is one that has to be weighed time and time again. It is not something that should be made quickly, nor without a heavy amount of debate and thought…"

* * *

Helseth Hlaalu, king of Morrowind, stood in his palace and looked over the colossal city of Almalexia. Normally he took great pride in the fact that it was his city, however, today it was his name only. Indeed, today the Redoran and the Indoril decided it was their day to strike.

Ungrateful worms. He had appeased all of the little, carping demands. He had reestablished slavery, as they had demanded. He had also muscled the other Hlaalu into letting go of some of the Ebony and Glass mines. Breaking that monopoly didn't make the rest of the House very happy. He had publicly and vocally called for more cooperation between the Great Houses, which was a political taboo. And yet despite it all the other Houses still had the gall to revolt against Imperial rule, namely his own.

"Puppet King". "Bretmer". "Patricider". Those were a few the many reasons that the militias had justified their impudence and treason. Helseth had to admit it was partially his fault. He thought that they were merely exhausted farmers with ruined harvests, ready to assemble but not to actually march. To waste his resources to appease the proles wasn't something he immediately thought was a good idea. After all, "The power is with the Houses" had become a proverb in Morrowind. And at first it did not seem like he was very wrong. The small militias grew into a half-serious army. That is itself was of no concern to Helseth. He had the full backing of the legions, after all. The 'battle' of the West Gash was a massive victory for Commander Darius, as his opponents broke and scattered at the first sign of danger. Other small detachments went about to close down tradehouses and cornerclubs that could become rebellious. A month ago it seemed like the militias were a joke at best, and the king turned his attention back into the political sphere. Then there was the recall.

The Redoran and Indoril both started to quietly muster forces. The Dres started to pour in financial support from their massive plantations for the great dream of independence. But it was a very subtle effort, not one that was taken too seriously at the time. Then, roughly three weeks ago, a campaign so well orchestrated came into effect that it left Helseth speechless. The Temple had used their priests to rally the people into a state of near frenzy in the smaller towns, and the political clubs gave virulent speeches against the king. It wasn't long before public opinion, which was anti-Imperial and anti-Helseth to begin with, to be nearly unanimously against outlander occupation. Even his own Hlaalu turned on him, the dogs. They had apparently forgotten that it was the Empire that kept them from annihilation all those years back.

But this was not like all those years back. This time, there would be no Vivec to convince the rabid Dunmer to give into Imperial demands. This time there was no charismatic emperor to lead Imperial forces to victory. And this time the Dunmer would have the benefits of generations of knowledge of the Empire, and the best ways to strike it. That was probably why they were able to muster an army up so quickly. Helseth would even bet that those self-righteous Redoran were plotting this before the recall.

Currently, the biggest threat was the United Morrowind Army. It consisted of Indoril Ordinators, Redoran troopers battle-hardened from the Oblivion crisis, insect mounted warriors of the Dres, and even a few Telvanni mages. It came together quickly and won all of the initial battles it faced. It was now marching south, to Mournhold, with only a single legion to stand it it's way.

Today the fighting in the city was small, nothing that the guard couldn't sweep up. Helseth was no fool- he had quickly drawn troops from secure areas to reinforce his capital. The sorry brigands could be called disgruntled citizens at worst. However, it was more symbolically painful than anything else. Helseth's grasp, which used to stifle all opposition, was loosening. Damnedable free speech. He always knew that would be the single most dangerous thing to his rule.

Helseth reflected upon it. All these things were cold, solid facts. And yet something still didn't add up. The Dres didn't have the funds to rally such a powerful force alone. It couldn't have possibly been one of the other houses or organizations. There was something important that he was missing, some factor that was still clandestine. The fact that the scenario wasn't totally solved was a source of much frustration for the king.

And there he was now. Helseth was draped in his royal robes, and looked over the small mobs that wormed their way about Almalexia and the Temple district with a stoic face. The only thing that gave away his nervousness was the way he twirled about the dagger he held in his hand. Behind him he heard the heavy armor of a guard walk towards him and kneel. "Delitian, report," he said in a calm voice, not bothering to turn around.

"… My liege," the voice from behind him began, "We have now totally secured the palace, and have the other three districts in Mournhold under control, excluding the Temple."

Helseth was quiet for several moments, his eyes darting around the city as he contemplated the situation he was in. "What capacity are the guards and legions at?"

"The Royal Guards can fight at full strength, but one of the legionary cohorts have buckled."

Helseth breathed in deeply as he looked about the small battles going about the city. "But all of this doesn't matter if the XXth can not hold off the joint enemy armies, correct? We have no means to defeat that sort of force."

"They would have to besiege the inner wall of Mournhold in a worst case scenario, sir. If so we can hold out for… Two weeks, I'd assume, before they would penetrate. And it is still a two days march here, if they win."

Helseth made an expression halfway between a grimace and a grin. "If they win," he repeated.

The two stood quietly for several moments, the only noise breaking the silence being a muted spell from out somewhere in the city. Helseth kept spinning the dagger in his hands while he made his judgement on the situation. "… We're going to lose this, most likely. Those… plebians are going to take my city when that army arrives."

The guard said nothing. Helseth bit his lower lip, showing externally his frustration. "Damn this. I should've seen all of this coming. I can't believe I let this happen," he muttered.

Delitian said nothing, and Helseth turned to face him. "We probably should have hired new trainers for that goblin army, eh?"

There was a moment of silence before Helseth turned once more to face the city. "It was a joke, Delitian," he said coldly, "You can laugh."

The guard did not laugh. "Your orders, sire?"

Helseth stopped twirling his dagger and gripped it firmly. "Very well. First, have been able to get a guild guide inside the grounds yet?"

"I guarantee that one will be available very soon. It's been difficult to negotiate with the Guild to procure one with all the rioting on the streets."

The king's face darkened. 'Leave it to a mage,' he thought to himself, 'To fritter in fear while their king is in danger. See if I ever sponsor them again'.

"We need that guild guide. When we get one, my mother and I will work our way west, to Cyrodiil. That is my sole concern at the moment. But I assume you want to know what I intend to do with you, the guards, am I right?"

Helseth turned his head to the kneeling man behind him. "Sire, I would gladly lay down my life in your defense."

"No," the Dunmer replied with a sigh, "You've been loyal to me for enough years that I trust you. You'll come with mother and me. But I can't say the same for the guards. I want this palace to be defended to the last man, you understand? The very last man. I'll be damned before some craftsman sits on my throne."

Delitian was silent for some moments. "… Very well, King Helseth. I shall give the word that the palace will be defended to the very end."

He stood, saluted, and left. The man walked quickly, but with a heavy air about him. Helseth couldn't blame him. His comrades were as good as dead when the army of Morrowind got to the city. But, in the end, they were his guards and it was their duty to fight until the end.

Helseth looked back to the city. Out there he could see a legionary cohort routing a squabble of rebels who were totally unprepared to fight against the strength and discipline of the Imperial Legion. The king allowed himself another smirk. If this kept up they may very well get a mage in the grounds. That was the goal after all. If he could get east he could rally his own army and reclaim his crown. And then it would be all as it should be.

Helseth began to twirl his dagger in his hand again.

* * *

"… And to those in the rebellious east, I say this to you! The Empire shall not tolerate your impudence and perfidy. The legacy of peace that the Empire has left upon Tamriel creates a massive debt that not one of us could possibly repay. And any man, be him a serf or a prince, who disrupts this miraculous peace shall feel the crushing hammer of Imperial justice brought down upon him! But you, the good, honest, and hard working subjects, know that your contained loyalty is the lifeblood of our Empire."

In the crowd, Maro frowned slightly. This speech was boring. And they hadn't even mentioned the new Emperor. Looking about him, he figured that the other citizens had the same idea. The heat was making more than a few patiences become tense, especially on the so-far empty words of Ocato.

"Indeed, remember the words of our blessed Saint Gaius- 'The most heavenly and divine virtue is loyalty. Loyalty is what separates chaos and order, construction from decay, and prosperity from catastrophe. Without loyalty, a people are doomed to die in obscurity…'"

* * *

"And then my husband tried to dance with me! Oh, I do love him so, but his talents do not involve dancing!"

The Countess Umbranox gave a melodic laugh. The Count drummed his fingers on his odd, exotic chair he had been given to sit in with one hand and reaching for a fig with the other. He had heard the story of his marriage been told by his wife during every single diplomatic assignment he had ever been on. It had come to the point where he didn't even feel embarrassed anymore and merely looked idly about the room he was in. It was certainly something an elf _would _build- large and gaudy. The roof was so high above his head he knew the architecture had to be supported by magic, as must be the slender legs of the table in front of him. Large sheets of fabrics in many colors were hung up as decoration, which along with the thick smell of perfume gave him a headache.

But he would admit that there was one thing he respected about this room. The window behind the delegates he was facing was enormous and allowed an unprecedented view of the Summerset Isles. The golden plains were dotted by small farms and the occasional village, which eventually led to the glimmering blue ocean on the horizon. The natural beauty of the island trumped all the vain decorations of the elves, he thought, but he would still rather be in county Anvil. He ate his fig.

In front of him sat two Altmer delegates who both gave unconvincing laughs to his wife's tale. He forced what must have been a pained smile. The Count Umbranox sat up and set his hand on his wife's. "No, I still don't care for dancing, Millona," he began, his smile becoming genuinely warm for a moment, "But I wasn't nearly as maladroit as you would make me see. Now, gentlemen, let us talk about what we meant to discuss," his voice now becoming more businesslike and professional.

"Indeed," said one of the Altmer.

"Now, I know you've heard all the rumors. Every man on the street, especially in the provinces is talking about how the Empire's treasury is empty and that it can no longer keep a strong hold over the provinces. And I'm sure they're especially strong here."

"They are."

"And I also assume that you know about those small rebels in Morrowind who think that they can somehow topple the legions who are stationed there. The ones with the insane dream of independence?"

"The ones who liberated Salen Vulgate?"

The Count Umbranox sneered. "If you call burning down the town hall and letting it descend into anarchy 'liberation'."

"Then yes, we have heard."

The Altmer's face was cold and stoic. Even the normally wily count couldn't quite read what the elf was thinking. He glanced to his wife who offered him her smile- simple, perhaps, but he needed it when dealing with elves. The Count Umbranox looked the Altmer in the eyes. "… I see that news travels quickly, even in the isles. But discussing that is not the reason I've come here. I have with me a treaty, ordered by Regent Ocato himself, which reaffirms the mutual friendship between the Imperial Province and the Summerset Isles. It also loosens some of the tariffs on imported goods, as well as giving the local governors some of the rights normally allocated to the Census and Exercise, among other rights. You can read the entire document here."

He motioned for an aid to bring over a very elaborate looking scroll. It was promptly handed to the Altmer who read it over with an amazing speed. 'A scholarly type, of course,' the count thought.

"… Your terms are very generous," the dignitary said at last.

"Of course. The Empire is always sure to reward those who are loyal and faithful to her. Just as we shall conversely bring the hammer of retribution to the East."

"I see."

The count hated the curt treatment he was receiving, but he didn't dare show it. After all, this was quite an important treaty. "And the Altmer people are a very loyal people, correct?"

"Of course."

"Then I see no problems with the treaty. We will give you time to make any changes you deem necessary before my wife and I return to Anvil," the count finished, rising.

He took his wife's hand as she gave her elegant bow and the two started to turn. But before he left the Count Umbranox glanced behind him to the dignitary who hadn't moved a muscle. "I am glad," he called out, "That we have such a steady and true ally in your people."

"Whatever else would you find?"

The count was apparently satisfied and exited the room into a flight of stairs. The couple descended the stairs swiftly, as if something was bothering one of them. The countess looked to her husband and gave him a smile. "That went very smoothly, don't you agree, darling?"

The Count Umbranox scowled, looking straight ahead. "If you take those elves at face value, I suppose."

"Husband, why must you be so suspicious! Those elves did nothing to wrong us."

"My dear, just because they said nothing doesn't mean they're not plotting something. Didn't you see a flicker of something when that elf answered that last question? A gleam of something less than loyalty?"

The countess looked honestly surprised. "No, I wasn't looking at him. But those terms are so agreeable I couldn't imagine anything that those elves could be frustrated about."

The Count Umbranox didn't look to his wife and continued to walk down the spiraling stairs. His face was troubled and caught up in thought. "Perhaps you are right, my dear, perhaps you are right…"

* * *

"… I heartily adhere to the belief that the provinces of the west and south are loyal. Indeed, the rewards of their loyal service rain down upon them every day. The Empire does not hoard her wealth and gifts. No- She shares them to the people who comprise her, those people that have supported their natural superiors and lords. That is why I am sure our rational Breton and elven friends wouldn't even consider betraying that which has aided them for centuries."

Ocato coughed once. "True, the crops have created a smaller than average yield this year. However, I have personally gave the order for the Imperial agents in all major cities to open up the emergency grain stores which were complied just in case of an event like this was to happen. The good people of the Empire will never starve, not while I stand as the watchman…"

* * *

In the great city of Sentinel two Redguard men walked in a cloister. They were dressed in clothes common of bureaucrats, practical and respectable, but not flashy. They were speaking rather loudly as they walked, with both looking rather frustrated.

Suddenly, the first put his hand on the shoulder of the second. The first was a younger man, with a fair face and eyes filled with zeal. "Please, would you just listen to what I'm saying? It's a very valid proposition!"

The second shook his partner's hand off his shoulder. He was a fair deal older, and his face was troubled. "What you are talking of is treason," he said coldly, quickening his pace.

"Hey! Wait!" the first said while matching his speed to the angry older man's. "I said wait! Now don't you call me treasonous! If anything, I'm the loyal one here! At least I know that I should be loyal to my own people, not some greasy Imperial!"

The older man spun about and looked the younger one in the eyes. "Boy, what you are saying is not only impossible but idiotic. Secede? The nation of Sentinel- secede? We're Imperial subjects. We've no right to secede."

"'Right'? Listen, the Imperials didn't have the 'right' to invade us in the first place. We're the victims here! Being taxed by faraway overlords, sending out men to go off and serve in their legions, being unable to forge our people's destiny! Every people should have the right to rule themselves! If we're talking about the 'right' to secede it should be our first, God-given right! For too long have we just idly stood by and let some foreigners rule over us. Well, it's high time that someone put an end to it!"

"What?"

"As a citizen of our great people and city, I find the fact that we're unable to rule ourselves both infuriating and unacceptable! We are Redguards! We're no pawns to be used by Imperial overlords. No, we're a proud, self-determined people! A people who should have full control of their future! It's a fact so obvious that I shouldn't even have to say it. Any real citizen of Sentinal would've already realized it!"

The second man turned up his nose. "You've rehearsed this speech, haven't you?"

The first blushed slightly. "N-no! And besides, these thoughts are harbored by all patriotic people of Sentinel!"

"You said that already," the second man sneered at his younger counterpart. He turned on his heel and started to walk once more. "Listen. Your nationalistic pseudo-philosophy might get some people riled up, but all you've offered me is some tear-jerking story about repression. That's all sad, and everything, but you've shown no practical way that we could go about breaking off from the Empire."

"H-hey! Old man! Do you really think I didn't think about how to beat the Empire? Hey, listen to me! Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm stupid!"

The first man put his hand on the second's shoulder once more. The second man slowly turned away, his eyes revealing that he wasn't going to have much patience. Regardless, the younger man looked up at him. "Now think about it. There is no time better than today to try to break off from the Empire. And I've got reasons. Real reasons."

"Fine, boy. Shoot. Sum up your argument as quickly as you can. We're running low on daylight."

The second man had a point, as the sun was starting to set. The first man nodded. "Quickly? Well, you know, I only actually need one reason. One reason alone can prove that we can and will secede from the Empire- Money."

"Money?"

"Oh, come now! Sentinel is the richest region in the Iliac Bay, even beating out Wayrest! The Warp in the West had been more than kind to us. Our territory has expanded tenfold and we've been able to tax the sin out of all these people. We work in the treasury, man! You know the kinds of funds that pass through our office alone. They're astronomical compared to what you gleaned back when you were my age, right?"

The younger man crossed his arms, giving his elder a cocky smile. "Sentinel has entered her golden age! We're stronger and more powerful than any other city in Hammerfall. We're no longer just a merchant power, and those oldbags in the 'first capital' know it! Our funds are no longer just great, they're limitless! Now look at the Empire, will you? Do you know what kind of infrastructure damage it took during the Oblivion crisis? They say whole cities were wiped out in Cyrodiil. Not to mention all the forts that were damaged out in the east. Even more, the Empire hasn't been able to efficiently tax their people because of the crisis. The Census and Exercise used to be our role model, and now they're what we mock! You must've heard the rumors even before the crisis began- that the Imperials were in a bit of a depression, right? Well, this crisis has exacerbated it! I bet that there is more money sitting in the treasury and banks of Sentinel than in every Imperial vault combined!"

"You 'bet'?"

"I-It's an educated guess! Listen, can you prove anything to the contrary? Do you have any evidence that the Empire is economically healthy?"

"Boy, I'm not under the obligation to prove anything-"

"Well, I can make it seem pretty likely when it comes to my case! For example, why do you think that all those legions were recalled out east?"

"I heard it was for some sort of military review."

"Hah! A likely story! I'm sure you read it in the Courier or something. Well, I think it's because the Empire can't afford to hold the east anymore-"

"Oh, come on!" The older man called out, raising his voice.

"No, no! Listen! Didn't you read that economic journal? Did you see the East Empire Company's earnings ratio for the past year? It was forty percent lower than during-"

"That's just because Raven Rock dried up. It was a bad gamble on their part, but not a sign of-"

"Give me a break! One colony doesn't make a normally hugely profitable company lose forty percent of their income! It's a catastrophic sort of loss! It's an unimaginable kind of loss! It's a bankruptcy sort of loss! And that's just the East Empire! Think of all the other offices that took damage during the crisis. I hear that there are even revolts out there, in the east-"

"Where did you hear that. In "The Common Tongue"-?"

"No, I heard it from Klath, and he works with diplomats every day."

"Alright, boy," the older man said, trying to make the youngblood settle down, "Let me boil down your argument. We should revolt because the Empire, which has made Sentinel very profitable, mind you, is 'tyrannical' and we have money?"

"Y-you know it's more complicated than that! And besides, that's enough, anyway. We could even beat them in a war, I bet. They're too exhausted to support all the legions they would need, and we could buy all the mercenaries we could ever want. Hell, we can even stand toe-to-toe to them with our own boys. They're far superior than an Imperial in a fight, you know."

The older man turned around with a tired sigh. The sun had almost set, leaving only a small glimmer of light visible on the horizon. "Before you go off and do something stupid, remember this. We are Imperial subjects. And free speech isn't quite as free as it used to be. I wouldn't go about yelling your dreams of independence out to everyone."

"I'm sure I'm not the only person who's come to this conclusion. In fact, I wager the king's even thought the same idea," the first man said, grinning ever so slightly on the last sentence, "You're not the first person I've told… You know Klath seemed more than a little interested in it."

There was a silence, and the older man came to a realization "… You know that if we try to do this, Wayrest and Daggerfall will declare war."

"Then let them. We'll win. We'll beat all the powers and rise as a new nation out of the crucible of war. It's far too late to turn back, old man."

The second man gave a deep sigh. "Boy, you say that like it's a good thing…"

* * *

"… And now, I shall address the final point that I am to speak of today."

The crowd, which had had started to mumble due to the heat and boredom grew silent once more. The mass watched Ocato silently as the Altmer gulped some air, hoping to quench his now dry throat. "… The final candidates for the Emperor have not been finalized."

There was a massive groan from the crowd, and many started to yell at the stage. Lex took his cue and screamed a massive silence at the crowd, an action that Erasmus Servius did at the same time. The people ceased their noisemaking nearly immediately. "However!" Ocato all but yelled, "The list is nearly complete!"

"The final announcement is that by the end of a year, the new emperor shall be named. The Elder Council guarantees a list by the end of next month. There shall be details in the next issue of the Black Horse Courier-"

The crowd had erupted once more into noise of all varieties. Ocato still tried to speak in a vain attempt to finish his speech, but soon realized that no one was going to listen. Maro was buffeted about in the crowd that was getting excited, but not quite violent. Habasi realized that this wasn't the safest place for her and quietly took her leave, followed by a Redguard. Lex looked about the crowd and heard Civello calling for him. The portly commander said something about a concern about safety, but it was hard to make out.

This went on for about five minutes before the crowd quieted down. Some solders broke through the crowd as the men on the platform left the Arboretum. Civello stood next to Ocato, and heard the Altmer whisper, "Look at the lot of them. They demand an Emperor from us every day, and this is how they take the news?"

Civello smiled thinly. "That is what makes the mob a mob, your honor."

Ocato frowned, but said nothing.

* * *

The Fox watched the proceedings with great interest. The Fox wasn't close to the action, but that was how the Fox liked it. Besides, the Fox could read the lips of Ocato if it really wanted to. But 

Ocato wasn't the important man this day; his time had passed. No, the Fox could see the major players. That cat-thief who was licking her paw in the crowd. The guard captain who was standing at attention next to that foolish Civello. Even that shopkeeper, who even the Fox had a hard time believing at the start would be someone who would change the world.

And it wasn't just the most important people. There were some of the supporting roles out and about. A younger guard speaking to a wood elf actress stood at one gate. The lady stood with her flames about her. Civello, of course, as well as the man from Argonia. Even the Fox's own man was standing in the crowd, keeping an eye on the cat.

The Fox looked about the pieces. They were set in their places. The game could finally begin.

The Fox vanished.


	8. Duty

It was nearly one in the morning when Hieronymus Lex was able to start to head back to the barracks. While the speech itself went according to plan, the aftermath was nothing short of a fiasco. Some small-scale rabble-rousers had decided that the event called for lighting something on fire, a natural chain of logic for drunkards. And that also was no surprise knowing that they were led by Hashaaji "the Lighter", who had been arrested by Lex no less than four times for arsony while he was a full captain. The captain had to spend several hours rounding up the hooligans and imprisoning them for weekend long sentences, followed by the necessary paperwork.

Regardless, his eyes remained ever vigilant as he walked down the streets of the Imperial City. However, his two younger companions didn't share his alertness; Guilliam was yawning while Kirania rubbed her eyes. The Breton shook his head. "It's so damned late-"

"Watch your language, Guilliam," Lex said in a businesslike tone, "We're still on duty."

"Sorry, sir…"

Lex really couldn't blame the boy. This was a very well-to-do district of the town, one where everyone had already retired to parlors or studies if they were awake. The road was totally void of people, so the only things that could've heard Guilliam were the occasional stray dog or beggar. Yes, it was a quiet, peaceful night, which was a pleasant change of pace from Lex's hectic day.

The captain heard the Bosmer to his left pick up her pace and start to walk at his side. "So, captain, that was some speech, huh?"

"I don't do politics," Lex said tiredly, "especially on duty."

Kirania rolled her eyes. "Please, captain, the whole district is asleep. It couldn't hurt to tell me what you thought of Ocato and his speech."

"I told you, I don't care for politics," he responded simply, "I serve my Empire, and that's enough for me."

Lex's voice was slowly changing from tired to frustrated. Guilliam tried to gesture to Kirania to lay off the subject, but she either didn't notice or care. "Oh, come now! You can't be telling me that you don't have any ideas of your own. Not like some dwarven machine, doing what it's programmed to do-"

"That is enough, _guardswoman _Kirania," Lex said, stopping and turning to the girl, "I don't care much for your tone."

Kirania looked at the ground. "Sorry, sir…"

There was a silence between the three as they stood in the street before Lex started walking again. His posture was very proud, to the point where he must've had a martinet for a father to perfect how he carried himself. His confidant strides were enhanced by his boots, which made a smart _tak _noise every time he took a step. To Guilliam, he was the perfect symbol of a public servant. But Kirania wasn't harboring the same thoughts as she looked anywhere but at the captain. He had hardly so much as spoken to her since last morning, which made her life difficult in more than one way.

The three walked like this, in silence, for some time. Each were too lost in their own thoughts to speak at the moment. The trio passed at one point passed a small garden, which filled up a space between two of the massive structures that made up the City. Lex didn't give it any notice whatsoever, but Kirania slowed her walk and looked into it. In the dark night it was hard to see anything, but her eyes picked out a figure emerging from the inky blackness. She tensed her muscles at first, but then realized who it was.

He was a beggar. The man was an old Imperial with balding hair and deep wrinkles. He was dressed in some cloth tatters that were so dirty it would be impossible to know their original color. The first thing anyone would notice, though, is that he was hopelessly drunk. The man staggered through the garden, almost tripping over a hedge, until he got to the gate. He shumbled over to Lex with a hiccup and set his unwashed hand on the captain's shoulder. "Haay lad, can you spare a coin? I can sleep in a real bed for one."

Lex didn't move for a moment. His back was facing his two younger companions, but if they could have seen his face they would have notice that it was quite disgusted. "Take your hand off me," he said, forcefully shoving his shoulder out of the drunkard's grasp.

The beggar was thrown back a few steps, which nearly made him lose his equilibrium. However, he didn't fall, and took offence at his mistreatment. "Haay, lad! Lad!" he called out, shuffling to Lex, "Y'shouldn't treat your elders like that! I'm a veteran y'know…"

The man clapped his hand onto Lex's shoulder once more, and the captain could smell the alcohol on the beggar's breath. The captain turned around again and pushed the older man, causing him to stumble backwards a few steps before collapsing into a pile. The beggar groaned once while Lex walked over to him. He gave the man a firm kick in the side that produced an audible thump when his armored boots struck. The old man yelped once, but the captain's eyes were unapologetic. "Listen, beggar, get off the streets now before-"

"Captain, stop!"

Lex turned his head to see Kirania pace in his direction. She seemed more than a little angry, which was evident in her furious stride and stormy face, "Captain, what do you think you're doing!?"

The Imperial frowned. "What in the devil are you talking about?"

"I mean… that! Kicking that old man like that. Don't you think that's… wrong?"

Once more, Guilliam tried to intervene between the captain and his subordinate, but his attempts went once again unnoticed. Lex narrowed his eyes. "No, I don't."

"But… But _how? _You're kicking an old, defenseless man," she said, gesturing to the now whimpering drunk.

The captain turned his entire body and walked slowly over to the Bosmer, his boots creating that small _tak _noise with every step. He stopped right in front of the girl and looked down on her. Examining her eyes, he realized that she was more experienced than he gave her credit for upon their first meeting. She returned his cold gaze with a fiery one. "Perhaps you were not informed," Lex began, "But begging in residential districts after ten o'clock is a crime. That man is a criminal."

"You can't really mean that, can you? He's an old man who can't get by. You can't just… Just treat him like that. What if you were in his position?"

"Then I'd deserve the swift justice of the law," Lex replied coolly.

"Do you really think that? Are you really so merciless that-"

"Miss Kirania," Lex broke in, "First, I am being very merciful to that vagabond. If I fancied it I could take him into custody and throw him in the Bastion to rot. Come to think about it, it would take me closer to my quota. If you want to call me anything, it's uncharacteristically merciful," he said, annunciating every syllable on the last two words, "Second, regardless of _any_ action I might take, it is not your place to criticize me. As your superior I tell you that if you have any more of these outbursts I will take disciplinary measures. I didn't come to the City to deal with attitude problems. Do I make myself clear?"

Kirania looked up at Lex for several seconds, her face contorted in indignation. "… Yes, sir…" she managed after a moment.

"Good," the Imperial said, turning once more, "Now we've wasted enough time already. I want to get to sleep."

With that Lex turned and walked forward to his destination. Guilliam followed, but offered the Bosmer an apologetic smile. Kirania stood still as she watched the two gain distance on her before she walked over to the beggar. She slipped a coin from her pouch and set it next to the old man. As she started on her way she heard from behind her a faint, "Thank you, kind lady…," which made her smile.

* * *

"Alright, it's the twenty-first! Time to pay up!"

Maro and Varnado both looked up from their work to see the door to their shop be thrown open. Entering their shop was a huge Nord man with a thick neck and dull eyes. In one hand he carried a massive club, in the other, a purse. While entering he bumped his head upon the top of the door, causing him to curse under his breath. "Alright you two. I need that cash. You first, Varnado."

The Nord lumbered over to the Redguard and crossed his arms. "You owe-"

Varnado shook his head. "I know what I owe. There's no need to make this longer than it's already going to be…"

The Redguard turned and started fiddling with a chest in the corner. This was always one of Maro's least favorite times of the month. He didn't know why the collection groups insisted on using such mammoth enforcers to collect their dues. Nearly all these men were rude, and what sort of incentive was it to pay a rude man? Maro also hated their loud voices, which always hurt his ears when used. The Imperial went to his own chest and opened it up. Inside were his paltry savings, which hardly took up any space of the chest. The Imperial reluctantly took out his gold and stood back up. He found the Nord already standing in front of him, swinging his massive club into one hand in a manner that suggested he had little patience. "Gold. Now."

Maro held the gold as far from his body as possible, as if he was worried that the Nord would attack him like a wild animal. The enforcer snatched the bundle from Maro's hand, looked at it inspectingly, and eventually made a satisfied… Noise, which neither of the two men could classify. "Alright. This is good. For now. But I'll be sure to see you two again next month!" he called out.

The two then watched the giant leave the store with a grating laugh, but not before he slammed his head on the doorway again. Varnado clicked his tounge. "That Merchant's Guild… You'd think that they could hire some better thugs once in awhile. Look at the size of that dent in the door."

Maro really didn't respond. He had come upon a rather reflective mood- something that the man didn't experience often. But he had always had a certain affinity for having money, and hated letting some colossal Nord take it from him. And furthermore, to add insult to injury, it would be very difficult for him to make the next payment. In fact, he was so perilously close to debt that it made him nervous. Maybe his father was right and this shop was doomed to fail.

"Hey, Rufus. You alright?"

Maro gave a jump has he came back into reality, "I was paying attention!" he blurted out.

Varnado clenched his fist, but didn't make his anger vocally present. "… Rufus, I was saying how Gin-Wuln needs to know what he's going to make. I was going to go over to his place for drinks tonight, and I figured I could bring him the list of armor you want to order for the next shipment."

"Wait, the next shipment?"

"… Rufus, please tell me that you _did _finish up balancing the totals for the next shipment. You had hours yesterday to do it."

Maro bit his bottom lip and looked up to the ceiling, "Well… Um… I was going to do it, but I had… Other important things to do."

Varnado stared at him. "… Maro, Gin needs those figures in today."

"I know that! Of course I know that! In fact, I was working on that right before you started yelling at me," Maro said with irritation as he looked about his counter for a quill and some parchment, "Everyone with a head on their shoulders knows that the figures are due today. Mother Mild, if there is one thing that I know, it is that-"

"Shut up, Rufus," Varnado sighed, "You're giving me a headache."

What happened next was Maro writing down some figures, but generally getting very little work done. As a rule, Maro didn't enjoy working with numbers and flowcharts, and would much rather be working with his armor. This meant that if he was given much time to go about a task, such as working on Gin-Wuln's figures, he would likely spend the first two thirds of the time daydreaming and the last third working in a frenetic pace.

Roughly forty-five minutes later the door opened again and another person came inside. The man who entered was an Imperial dressed in the old style legionary gear. His face was badly sunburned, and his black hair was cut short. He blinked a few times upon entering, trying to have his vision return in the dimly lit shop. The legionnaire walked over to Maro, who quickly put on a smile. The soldier opened his mouth, but Maro beat him to it, "The Best Defense! That's me, Maro Rufus! Light armor. The very best."

The soldier stared him down. He was actually a frightening man, much like that Servius had been the previous morning. Maro didn't like it, but kept smiling. He could smell a sale. "… Yes, well, my name is Quintus Antonius. I represent the XIIth Legion, from Argonia."

Maro's eyes drifted to the man's right pauldron, where the numerals 'XII' had been etched into the metal. "I have come with a request from our general. As we've been called up to the Imperial City, he has seen it fit that the archers of the legion be totally refitted. The most modern chainmail you have."

"Oh! Oh, yes, we've got plenty of chainmail! By the looks of what you have now you bought that armor when pauldrons didn't come attached, but in modern suits-"

Antonius raised his hand, and Maro quickly stopped speaking. "I assume that whatever you deem superior will do. I neither know nor care about the details. However, Mr. Rufus, the general is willing to offer you twice the normal value of any such armor you provide for us."

Varnado's brow shot up, and Maro's jaw unhinged. "T-Twice!?"

"Yes, twice. General Servius wants it to be clear that the shopkeepers know that he is a generous soul. So we will offer you twice the funds. Now, we'll need full sets for forty archers. I expect these suits to be delivered within the next two weeks to Fort Nikel," Antonius dictated, with Maro now scribbling down the soldier's words, "Oh, and be sure to have the XII engraved into them, on the pauldron. A nice, respectable job."

"O-Okay! 'XII'! Got it!"

"You'll get your payment upon delivery. Any questions?"

"None, none at all! I got it all written down! Yep!"

Antonius turned. "Fine, then I'll take my leave. Good morning, Mr. Rufus."

Antonius left the store quickly, as if it was distasteful. Not as though Maro cared how the man felt. The sole thought on him mind was that he made a sale. As the representative entered the Market District, Maro allowed himself a laugh. "Did you see that, Varnado? Victory, thy name is Maro!"

His Redguard business partner shook his head. "I'm not so sure, Rufus. Didn't something seem… Off to you?"

Maro blinked, "What do you mean?"

"Rufus, the man offered you double the price_. Double_. You didn't even have to haggle at all. Have you ever, in your entire life, had someone offer you double on a bid, even after the most artful of persuasions? A master of mercantile couldn't get that deal."

Maro laughed, "It's alright to be jealous, Varnado. You see, things like these are actually more common than you'd think. It's the first thing I learned at the Merchant's Academy, as a matter of fact!"

Varnado grabbed at his hair in frustration.

* * *

Habasi opened her eyes quickly. Someone had broken in to her room. Her eyes darted about the cramped chambers. She had left before the speech last night had concluded, which meant she was able to find one of the last vacancies in town. It wasn't nice by any means- her chambers were cramped, damp, and dirty- but it was better than sleeping outside.

She rolled silently off her bed, sniffing the air around her. She could tell that someone had come in, that much was certain, but for the life of her she couldn't determine who or where he was now. She slowly stood up and backed into a corner, still sweeping her eyes across the room. She had found stealth more difficult than it used to be now. It had become difficult for her now not only to slink around, but find others. Indeed, Sugar-Lips Habasi had become old, and with age came the deterioration on her senses.

Suddenly, her eyes were attracted to the filthy table across the room from her. A cup she had left on it slowly lifted into the air on it's own accord, and less than a second later a man materialized from the darkness, sitting on a chair is. The intruder was a Redguard who was apparently holding the cup in his hand, and promptly took a swig of its contents. Habasi realized with revulsion who her intruder was. "Christophe!."

The Redguard who now sat at her table gave Habasi a mocking, but oddly friendly, smile. "Hello there, kitten. What is this you're drinking? I've never had it before. Is it from out east?"

"Christophe! Leave this room! Habasi doesn't wish to talk to you!" the khajiit hissed."Now, is that any way to talk to a Doyen? Let alone an old friend?"

Habasi snorted and walked over to her bed. She fell into it and laid face down, saying nothing to the intruder. After about a minute she heard Chirstophe stand up and walk over to her. She could also sense him crouch down next her and say in a hushed voice, "Habasi, the Guild needs your help. This won't take long."

The khajiit turned to face the wall opposite of Christophe. "Habasi doesn't care anymore. She thought that Christophe knew that she wanted out."

"You can't leave right now. You're stuck with us for a little while longer, whether you want to or not. Fox's orders."

Habasi didn't reply at first, and merely looked at the wall. "… She listens to Stacey, not the Fox."

"… Look. I know you're still not over what happened back then," Christophe began slowly, "And you know I won't apologize. However, Habasi, that's between the two of us, not the Guild. So I'd advise you to put your own personal angers behind you, or I'm going to become a lot less friendly, real quickly."

"… Habasi is tired. She wants out."

Christophe gave a long sigh and stood up. Habasi could hear him walk to one end of the small room. She really didn't care much, though. She was so tired, and she didn't appreciate the fool's intrusion… She realized that she needed more sleep as she got older, and it was so early in the morning…

"Habasi. I need your help, alright?" she heard him say, interrupting her thoughts, "Do you want me to beg? Would that make you feel better? Are you so proud you need that? Because this is important guild matter, and if I don't get your opinion on this everyone could be in a lot of trouble. Emphasis on the 'lot', kitten."

'Useless, in the end,' Habasi thought, 'He'll not leave unless I speak to him…'

The cat-thief sat up and looked humorlessly at Christophe. "Fine. What is it?"

The Redguard smiled thinly, "Thank you, Habasi. Now, for the problem…"

Christophe opened a pack he had with him and took out a small bottle. Habasi looked it over. Nothing seemed odd about it on the surface, but then again, how can anyone tell from just looking at the bottle? "Now, Habasi. This is our problem."

The khajiit swooped the bottle up in one of her paws. "What is inside?"

"It's a sort of drug we've never seen before. On the streets it's called 'Felshine'."

He uncorked the bottle and poured a little of the liquid into the small cup he drank from earlier. The stuff itself was a vivid green color that seemed unnatural. As Habasi watched the concoction flow from the vial, her ears perked up. She put her head over the cup and realized that it shimmered even in the low light of her room. "What… Is it?"

"We're not sure. All we know is that it started popping up a couple months ago. I contacted the Guild members in all the provinces, but none know its source," Christophe said matter-of-factly, "In fact, it's a real enigma. Not only do we not know what it's made of, but we also don't know who makes it. It's being sold totally out of the Guild. The Fox itself asked me to find out more about this stuff."

Habasi picked up the cup and sniffed it. "What does it do?"

"It's a stimulant, at the surface at least. One of our contacts says that it was first discovered in Bravil, among certain artistic circles. Remember the artists- For some reason artists are particularity drawn to it. Continuing, it creates a sense of euphoria at the start. From what I've heard it makes the world more colorful and happy."

"Not like skooma…"

"No, not like skooma. It seems actually very pleasant for the first hour or so, but after the euphoria there's a let down so bad it makes skoomafall seem like a hangover. The body itself actually seems to atrophy if more of this stuff isn't ingested within a few days. Trust me, you don't want to see some of the poor devils who haven't drank it in several weeks."

"… Habasi wonders why she hasn't heard of it before," she muttered, looking at the stuff from a different angle.

"It's pretty new. We know that not only because of the cases are just coming to light, but our information nets haven't quite penetrated into the heart of whoever is producing this. Which is actually why I came to you."

Habasi looked up from the Felshine, "What?"

"Habasi, you're 'Sugar-Lips'. You know more about moon sugar and skooma than anyone else in the entire Guild. The Fox came to me immediately after the speech and requested by name that you lead the effort to get at the very heart of this mystery. We'll need your knowledge of the skooma networks to lock on to and destroy this felshine operation."

"Destroy, Christophe? Normally the Guild stays separate from issues of these sorts."

"Yes, normally. However, we've got more than one thief out of commission because of this damn slime, and that number will only increase if we let it grow. The Fox also has its own reasons, or at least alluded to some. I'd say it's to protect the Waterfront. Not let the poor become addicted to this stuff."

Habasi nodded and handed the cup to Christophe. She closed her eyes and pondered for half a minute. "Habasi will help under one condition."

"Shoot," Christophe said, crossing his arms.

"This will be her final job. When it is over, Habasi is out of the guild. Permanently."

Christophe thought it over for a moment. "Alright then, kitten. I agree."

"Good," Habasi said, "Then let her sleep."

Christophe turned and left the room without another word. Habasi realized that he was probably as ready to get this over with as she was. However, the meeting turned out to be far more intriguing than she first thought it would be. She hadn't had a case this interesting while she was in Balmora, and a job like this would actually stress her skills. It had been some time since she had a true challenge, she reflected as she drifted back into sleep, and maybe by the time it was done she would feel a little less old.

* * *

It was still early in the morning when Hieronymus Lex went to report to Civello. As a guard captain it was his duty to speak to the Legionary Commander at least once every day. It wasn't as though Lex minded meeting in the morning, however. He lived a life wholly dedicated to eradicating crime- he retired to bed late and woke with the sun, if not earlier. He was punctual in all aspects of life, so he arrived at Civello's office at six o'clock sharp.

He walked to the secretary who sat just outside Civello's room. "Guard Captain Hieronymus Lex to see Legion Commander Giovanni Civello," he said forcefully, announcing his presence.

The secretary, who had been busy waxing his thin moustache, gave a little jump and looked up. "Gods' blood, you're already here? Well, if you're ready, Civello will see you now."

Lex saluted and entered Civello's office. Once again his eyes were drawn to the gaudy, overdone decorations which decked the room. If he didn't know better he could've sworn that there was a new tapestry on the wall, one depicting a Nordic hunting party, which wasn't present before. Seated at the center of the room was Civello, who's luxurious clothing was like a decoration in itself. On his desk was a large silver platter that was engraved with a variety of shapes and figures. There was an equally embellished silver goblet on the platter, which the commander has just carefully set down. Upon the platter there were several large, rich pastries that the commander was enjoying for his breakfast. Noticing someone had arrived, Civello looked up from his breakfast and smiled upon seeing Lex. "Ah, my dear Hieronymus, I didn't expect you so early. Please, have something to eat."

"I must politely decline," the captain said sitting in the short chair that sat in front of Civello, "I don't care for sweet things so early in the morning."

"Oh? A pity. I must say that I enjoy them," Civello replied as he picked up one of his pastries, "I've loved them since I was a boy… Although my wife always tells me that they're terrible for me. Rot my teeth and such nonsense! Women! Speaking of which, how is your wife?"

"I've never wed."

"Oh, yes, yes, I almost forgot. I must've been thinking of someone else. You know how it is," he said before eating his food.

Although Lex thought that the portly commander should probably eat something other than pastries, the way he ate was impressive. Even while eating with his fingers the older man had an air of nobility to him, a sort of refined elegance. While Civello continued to dine, Lex found it proper to begin his report, "Last night I found and arrested three arsonists, a couple of thieves, and a pick pocket. The damage done to Imperial property was minor. I did not come across anyone who was seriously wounded, although I did have to break up a fight in the Elven Gardens. I have not yet received my assignment on the group of guards that I am to watch over, however-"

"Oh Hieronymus," Civello interrupted with a sigh, "How this bores me!"

The captain stopped speaking in midsentence, his mouth still open. He took a moment to think. "… Forgive me, commander, but under Phillida I reported every day. I assume that the policy hasn't changed in my absence."

"No, of course it hasn't," Civello began dramatically, "But think of my position! Every day I suffer through the minute details of every captain's day. Now, come, Hieronymus, do you think learning about everything you did will make me a better commander? Do you think a briefing over arsonists is going to really change the big picture? Of course not! All it accomplishes is tiring me out, and I am sick of it! Especially with you, Hieronymus, as you know that we are friends."

Lex blinked, "… I see."

"Ah, yes, I know you did. You understand my point. I'm glad to hear that, you know, none of the other captains hold your sentiments."

"I understand, commander," Lex said, "Then shall I take my leave…?"

Civello, who had been reaching for his last pastry, looked up at Lex with a small frown on his face. "Leave? Oh, no. No, Hieronymus, not yet. Just because I don't wish to be briefed on your actions doesn't mean I don't want to talk to you. Mmm, yes…" the captain trailed off, a rather reflective look crossing his pudgy face, "In fact, I think we have some business, you and I…"

A man such as Lex didn't often show his emotions other than righteous anger on the surface, but inside he couldn't help but feel curious. He watched Civello move his large girth out of his desk and stand up. The commander picked up a sheet of parchment from his table and looked it over as he began to pace about his chamber. "Hmm… I must admit, this record is impressive. 'Hieronymus Lex'. Born in Bravil, I see. A good town, Bravil, an honest town. Says your parents had some means. Your father a guard and your mother a tailor. They still do that?" Civello asked, tossing a glance to his guest.

"Yes, sir. My father is planning to retire come autumn."

"Ah… I see, I see… And you came to the City as a youth? It says here that you were… Seventeen."

"Yes."

Civello nodded slowly as he continued his pacing. "An excellent record as a guardsman. A little zealous, but there are worse vices… And this 'dereliction of duty'? Well, everyone makes mistakes. But it still looks very flattering for you! Ah, I didn't know you made captain so young! Twenty-seven? By thunder, that's unprecedented!" he declared, slapping his hand into the parchment for effect.

"Thank you, sir," Lex said simply, although he couldn't figure for the life of him why Civello was reading off his papers.

"And then you were given the assignment of being the Captain of the Anvil Guard. A worthy post, oh yes, a most respectable post. According to this you foiled an assassination attempt against the Count, I didn't know that! Was it in the Courier?"

"No, sir. I really didn't care for the publicity."

"Aha," Civello said with a smile, "And modest, too! Hmm… Now, your record in Anvil is impressive as well. Crime was at an all time low. So were unjustified imprisonments, but accidents happen, eh, Hieronymus?"

"It wasn't my attempt to arrest any law abiding citizen, but one can never bat an eyelash at injustice."

"Ah, yes… True… 'Never stop working making this a better place for everyone'. That was your saying, wasn't it…?" Civello asked, sliding back down into his chair.

He had a small little smile that played on his lips as he looked at Lex, as if he was anxious to crack some joke. Lex, to his credit, sat upright as the perfect model of professionalism. A silence descended upon the two, but a light one. It was a silence that seemed like a venire, so thin that it should be wiped away at any moment. As they said nothing, Lex grew increaingly uncomfortable around Civello. "Sir? Is our business complete?"

"… Not quite, Hieronymus, not quite…" Civello said thoughtfully, "You see, there is one last thing I wanted to speak to you about this morning…"

Civello tapped a small box that was on his desk. Lex hadn't noticed it, as all the silver decorations were far more noticeable than the small, mahogany box. But on further inspection, there was something unusual about it. Instead of the symbol of the guard that normally was carved into legionary property there was the Imperial Dragon- meaning that the box had come directly from the palace. If there was one thing Lex knew well, it was the workings of the guard, and he knew that the palace hardly ever kept tabs on the guard's actions. Besides from the New Year's Report and the occasional Imperial Review the palace didn't pay much attention to the guard and let it essentially run itself. Civello looked down at Lex, seemingly amused. "Hieronymus, do you know what this is?" he said, slowly tapping the box once more.

Lex kept his eyes on the box. "It's something from the palace, correct?"

"That's a sharp observation, my friend. And yes, this came directly from the palace. It was sent to me directly from Ocato himself. You see, Hieronymus," the commander began, "The regent and myself are friends. And because I am a friend of Ocato I am… Privy to several bits of news before they reach the public. Furthermore, I have several, ah, tokens of friendship that are given to me, be they goods or services… Hieronymus, let me ask you something, have you thought much of the political atmosphere lately? Talked about it with any of your friends, perhaps?"

"… Not really, no."

"No? Really, no? Why, that's so queer, Hieronymus! My word, everyone seems to be talking about politics nowadays. In fact, I heard a group of stonemasons talking about it in a tavern the other day, and since when have stonemasons cared for politics? Ah, but I digress. It is unfortunate that you don't have a love for politics, but that isn't the end of the world, oh no…" Civello said, running a hand through his balding hair, "In fact, it might make things even better, now that I think about it."

"Sir?"

Civello sat up straight suddenly, as if he remembered something important to say. "Well, 

regardless of what you think, I do enjoy politics. My uncle was a politician, you know, worked his way onto the Elder Council, actually. And I must say that I have a solid understanding of politics myself, yes… In fact, that's how I was able to work my way to Legionary Commander- No, no! I am not ashamed! In fact, I feel like I must tell you, as friends must be honest with one another… I mean, look at me, Hieronymus," he said, gesturing to his round gut, "I'm not a vain man, I can handle what you think. And I also can not say that I've really lived the life of a guardsman. No, I might not know how the guard operates while patrolling the streets, but I certainly know how to manage them! Don't you agree? I mean, Phillida was a great man, but management wasn't one of his stronger suits. Aren't the guardsmen more effective than they were even a year ago?"

"… I suppose so, sir," Lex said, his face not yet betraying his growing suspicion.

Civello laughed heartily, "You see! Mara blesses us all in her own ways, and luckily for me I was graced with a keen eye for management!" he said nearly boastfully, but stopped speaking for a moment. "… Now, Hieronymus, I suppose I can now tell you what's in this box, eh? I can tell that you want to know. Don't try to deny it, now. Do you want to take a guess, hmm…? Do you have an inkling that you want to show off?" he finished, his eyes gleaming as if were joking with one of his oldest friends.

Lex looked at Civello, but he was far from amused. "… No, sir. I've no idea."

The captain laughed once more, "Ah, no problem! I'm sure I would've been stumped if I were in your position, you know? Well, back on track… Hieronymus… I was given the box a few weeks ago, and when I saw what was inside I couldn't help but to become excited for this very moment, you understand? Now, you see, inside this box is a recommendation to become a candidate for emperor."

A self-satisfied smile spread across Civello's face as he looked Lex in the eye. Lex returned the stare dispassionately as his intuitions were confirmed. "I see," he began, "You don't need to say the rest. You have your eyes on the throne, and you want me to aid you. That's why you called me in from Anvil, correct? So you could have a favor to call in so I'd have to assist you. You need someone bolder than you are to improve your own image."

Civello put his hand to his chest with a look of surprise on his face. "Whatever are you talking about? My dear Hieronymus, you've got it all wrong! _I'm_ not the one to be destined for emperor. You are."

For a good minute Lex couldn't form a coherent sentence. Eventually, he managed a "P-pardon?"

"Hieronymus, I've written up my recommendation for _you. _Heavens, whyever did you think that I wished to be emperor? No, no, that sort of life isn't the life for me… But Ocato, being my friend, gave me one of the elusive recommendation forms, and I just had to chose you."

Lex still felt lost. "B-but… Sir, you really can't think that I…?"

"Oh, don't talk like that. You're an excellent candidate. Loyal to his country, dedicated to his duty, proven to be successful in dealing with many difficult issues… You're well known here in the Imperial City, and even better you're still young, merely thirty! I mean, compared to the other captains, active or former, I had to chose from you were undoubtedly the best choice!" Civello said, as if it was one of the simplest concepts to grasp.

"But… Civello- I mean sir… Let me see what's in that box."

The commander smiled and pushed the small box over to Lex. "By all means."

His breathing now heavy, Lex opened the lid of the box. Inside was a small sheet of parchment with beautiful handwriting upon it. The captain slowly picked up the sheet and began to make sense of the elaborate calligraphy.

_By the Laws of the Empire and the Grace of the Nine, I, Giovanni Civello, hereby recommend one Hieronymus Lex to occupy the vacant seat of the Emperor of Tamriel. This man has my fullest confidence that he can execute all the duties and obligations of the office without peer and can lead the Imperial people to prosperity. He has proven to be an outstanding example of honor, citizenship, and piety. His long and decorated service in our Imperial Guard makes him a natural choice to lead our people. I have the utmost faith that he will be chosen and start a new dynasty that will rival the Septum, may they rest in eternal peace…_

The piece continued in that form for some time. At the bottom of the parchment Lex saw what must've been Civello's personal seal. He returned it to the box, and the older man pulled it back towards him. "Now, I assume you have some questions for me, am I right Hieronymus?"

"… Civello," Lex began, "I thought I made it clear that I have no love or interest in politics. I do not want to be emperor."

"And that is how it should be, my dear Hieronymus!" Civello replied to Lex, "All good men take positions of power reluctantly. That's a sign of purity of spirit, you see, or at least that's how I see it!"

Another silence descended upon them. This silence, however, was heavy and thick. Lex looked at the rotund commander with a frustrated glare, which Civello returned with a jocular smile. The silence continued until Lex adjusted his posture and drew in a deep breath. "… Commander. I know you must be finding this whole ordeal hilarious, but I must say, I see no reason to go along with this plan of yours."

Civello shook his head, "Oh, my dear Hieronymus," he sighed, "I was afraid you would say that… Now how can I answer such a question? Indeed, you must answer that for yourself. A recommendation is a recommendation, Hieronymus, nothing more. You can always deny the crown, however… I can think of two reasons why you would go about accepting the recommendation and start your attempt at the crown. First, it is the equivalent of a direct command from your superior officer, and I really can't see directly disobeying a direct order. No, my friend, you'd be breaking character if you did that," the older man said with a dark smile.

"Second… Why, I suppose I would have to say it's in your nature to take up this task. No, don't give me that look, Hieronymus, I've got a perfectly good point. Now look here. Actually, I suppose you need to know this. Or maybe you already do…" Civello trailed off, and for the first time Lex noticed the man's face become serious, "… Hieronymus, in a few years, the Empire will collapse. Not because of some dramatic battle, or otherworldly invasion, but simply because it doesn't have the infrastructure to support itself. You see, those Daedra wound up being a lot more successful in the Crisis than most people right now would give them credit for. Cyrodiil made it out alright- Aside from Kvatch the majority of the cities were saved by the Champion. But not every province had the Champion, mind you."

The commander stood up slowly. He started to pace as he clasped his hands behind his back. "I spoke to a mage about this a week ago. Now, you're no commoner, Hieronymus. You know that the Daedra are intelligent creatures. Well, this mage posed his theory on the Crisis. Simply put, Methrunes Dagon somehow knew that he was going to be defeated. Isn't that an interesting idea? I mean, I know that Daedra do not think like us, but this mage said that simply killing everyone in a demonic invasion wasn't Dagon's original plan. And come to think of it, Dagon failed at Battlespire, so he very well might've taken precautions to-"

"Battlespire, sir?" Lex asked.

"Oh? Ah hah, that's nothing you need concern yourself with, Hieronymus," Civello said with a nervous smile, " Now, as I was saying, Dagon might've seen defeat as a very real possibility. Either he knew from the past that mortals are a force to be reckoned with, or he was somehow able to see into the very future, but Dagon knew that his invasion might not succeed. However, this is where it gets interesting, Hieronymus… Tell me, did you ever read that report complied last month? The one tallying the damage done during the Crisis? No, of course not. Regardless, if you look at the areas damaged by the Crisis in the provinces, they are overwhelmingly Imperial facilities. Legionary garrisons, bureaucratic offices, storehouses- Nearly all the sites that took heavy damage were Imperial structures. That mage I talked to said that it was too improbable to be a coincidence… I mean, why would the Imperial structures take the brunt of the attack in every province? So the idea was that Dagon, knowing that he couldn't simply defeat us, opted instead to destroy as many Imperial holdings as he could, in hopes that the Empire wouldn't be able to keep itself together. The destruction of such facilities would unwind the empire like a ball of yarn, without the infrastructure to support itself. In the end, he would destroy us after all, albeit in a way we did not forsee."

Civello walked back to his chair and sat back down. He folded his hands and looked Lex in the eyes. "Or at least that's what I think. The argument was quite persuasive, Hieronymus."

Civello took a small, embroidered handkerchief and used it to pat at his lips in a fatuous way. "Regardless whether this was planned or not, if the Imperium continues to go down that path it is heading, it's death is inevitable. And you, Lex, are dedicated to the Empire, or at least that's what your record would lead me to believe. Frankly, I can't see you turning your back on the Empire when she is in her darkest hour."

"Sir, I think you've gotten the wrong man. I don't know how to save the Empire, even if I wanted to."

"Oh? Aha, my dear Hieronymus, you're not in this alone. You see, I will be with you every step of the way, from gaining the approval of the Elder Council to your first actions on the throne. I can help guide you to save the Empire. Have trust in me."

Lex openly scowled for the first time, to which Civello responded with a smile, "Well, if you know everything that must be done, why don't you do it yourself!?"

"Why? My dear Hieronymus, that's a simple question. In fact, I believe I told you already. I lack that… Heroic, inspiring image that an Emperor needs. The people will never accept me, and I'm at terms with that that. However, I do not mind doing my part for the Empire behind the scenes."

Lex stared at Civello dumbfounded, "… I really don't have a choice in the matter, do I?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.

"No, no you do not. But take heart, Hieronymus! There are far worse fates than being put into the running for Emperor. And besides… There is a lot of competition for this post… I mean, I assume you know that some of the brightest political minds in Cyrodiil are putting up their protégés for this position. But I daresay you've already met your greatest rival."

"Sir?"

"Oh, nothing. Just thinking aloud, old boy. Regardless, now that we have both come to a mutual understanding about the future, we must get to business! First, have you been assigned to a guard unit yet?"

"… Not at the moment, sir. I've been doing my rounds with a couple of younger guardsmen."

"Very good. We can't have you wasting time with some guard regiment… Keep with the younger ones, though," Civello nodded in a rare bout of professionalism, "It'll improve your image… Oh, and be sure to cultivate your image. You see, some people still see you as a little, ah, how shall I put this… 'Unnecessarily focused' with the Thieves' Guild and the Gray Fox."

Lex didn't reply, so Civello laughed. "Don't look so glum, Hieronymus! How about this? I'm sure you're very flabbergasted still at this whole state of affairs, so why don't you go out and get a proper breakfast with some of your old friends, eh? You've only been back a day, and I'm sure they're dying to hear of your adventures in Anvil! Then return to me at, say eight o'clock this evening. Yes, that'll work fantastically!"

Civello stood. "You are dismissed, Captain Lex."

Lex stood in return and gave the commander a salute. He quietly turned and left the room, and not too long after he was gone Civello's secretary entered. He set a small stack of papers on his employer's desk and eyed the door. "… Sir, do you really think that Lex fellow can wind up winning the Elder Council's approval? His chances are low looking at the others…"

Civello gave a thin smile as he started on his paperwork. "Oh, I have faith in our friend Hieronymus… I have faith."

* * *

Maro had spent the remainder of his day in a blissful state of being. His work that needed doing was completed with a song in his heart (Although some of the math was questionable at best), and he spent a good time speaking with his good friend Varnado (Who was obviously still jealous, as he seemed rather angry). He was under the impression that this was the best day he could have, and that it would be impossible to ascend past this pinnacle of happiness and relief. However, the day for Maro Rufus still had one more event in store for him.

"… Which is why, to this day, I'll never trust a scamp."

Varnado shook his head, "What the hell are you talking about, Rufus? Scamps are daedra. They don't go about selling drinks and buying off things you have."

"No, no, no! Gods' truth, I'm telling you. The little guy wouldn't hurt a flea, let alone someone like myself-"

Maro was cut off as the door to his shop opened, and both men quickly assumed straight and businesslike postures. Two men entered the room, both tall and donned fully in a striking red armor. Most distinctive were their shields, which had painstakingly beautiful flames engraved into them and flared with gold leaf. The two then took a step to opposite sides and between them a third figure appeared. For a moment, Maro couldn't believe his eyes, but then again, there she was. Dressed head to toe in blue, holding a blue parasol in one hand, was Lynette Flyte. "Ah, Mr. Rufus! You are here today!"

The shopkeeper's reactions were mixed. Maro's eyes shimmered as a beaming smile burst upon his face. Varnado was utterly surprised, and the normally composed man's face showed it. The Lady Flyte looked at the two shopkeepers. "Oh, pray I'm not interrupting you two?"

Maro furiously shook his head. "What? Oh, no! Not at all, my lady! Welcome to The Best Defense! I'm so happy to see you!"

Lady Flyte put her hand to her mouth as she giggled slightly. "As am I. Please tell, who is that friend of yours? The Redguard?"

"Oh, him? That's my best friend, Varnado. He manages heavy armor here."

Lady Flyte gave one of her natural smiles. "Oh does he? Then I believe that my companions could learn much by talking with him. By all means, you two," she said, gesturing at her guards, "I'm sure you two can learn some new tricks!"

The guards obeyed and walked over to Varnado, but didn't attempt to strike up conversation. Instead, the Redguard kept his eyes on the lady who was now walking over to Maro. "Mr. Rufus," she began, "I trust you had a pleasant Sun's Rest?"

Maro nodded, "Oh, yes. Very pleasant."

Flyte smiled, "I'm very glad to hear that."

Maro still wasn't quite over the fact that he had successfully made small talk with Lady Flyte, and was grinning like a fool. Flyte walked slowly about near the man's desk, looking at anything she could find. "And today? Has it gone over well…?" she asked casually, although Varnado had a nagging suspicion that it wasn't as casual as the woman would want everyone to think.

"Oh, yes! You should've seen what happened! The XIIth asked me to refit all their archers! All of them!"

At the word 'XIIth', several things happened at once. Lady Flyte stopped her pacing for a split second and opened her mouth ever so slightly, with the ghost of a smile upon her face. Maro, of course, wouldn't have noticed if she had suddenly turned into a spider, but Varnado did. And even more, Varnado saw something gleam in her eyes, as if she had discovered a sort of treasure. It was a sort of hunter's gleam, the gleam of the Great Hunter having finally trapped his hare. Varnado narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, my," Lady Flyte said nonchalantly, "I had no idea you were aquatinted with the good people of the XIIth."

Maro's idiotic smile never ceased to leave his face, "Well, I wouldn't say I know them know them, but I suppose I'll be seeing plenty of them in these coming months… Business relationships, and all that."

"Ah, yes. But business relationships pale to personal ones, don't they?" Lady Flyte commented idly.

Maro flushed crimson, and Varnado shook his head. He had never known Maro to act this way. True, Maro had never been a beacon of rational thought, but during all their years stationed in Elsweyr he had still been a very stable person, who had never once wavered in the face of women, alcohol, or skooma- All of which were available in massive amounts out in Dune. Even troubles with his family he weathered with a respectable, if still somehwhat silly, aplomb. And so Varnado had to ask himself, why had Maro gone so totally starry-eyed at the Breton lady? She wasn't even all that pretty- if it weren't for her eyes and her jewels she probably would've been very average, and that was being generous. Maro couldn't have been brought in by her wit- That Varnado knew.

Lady Flyte kept pacing about the room and looked at a fur helm on display, "So tell me, Mr. Rufus, have you been working with light armor for long?"

"Oh, it's my great passion! Although it isn't the only one- B-but that isn't to say that I couldn't have-"

Flyte laughed in her melodious manner, "Oh, Mr. Rufus, you're a very funny man, did you know?"

The shopkeeper flushed again. "Well, I… I really didn't know…"

The lady turned shaking her head, "Oh, but you are! I see that you can successfully run a shop as well. A funny businessman with a penchant for light armor. You are a man of many talents, Mr. Rufus. And I must say, I like men like that."

The now thoroughly flustered Maro couldn't respond to that, causing Lady Flyte to laugh once more. "Ah, but I'm afraid that I really must be meeting some friends in less than an hour. You see, I just stopped by to give you my greetings. But it was nice to see you regardless… I have a feeling that we shall be meeting again, Mr. Maro Rufus," she said with a dusky smile.

Maro merely nodded, and the Lady Flyte nodded once. "Well, it's time to go. Boys, let us head to the Tibur Septum!"

Her retinue of guards quickly left Varnado's side and exited the store. Lady Flyte did likewise, but right before she left she tossed a glance over to Maro. "Oh, and Mr. Rufus," she called out, "Be sure to tell me if any of your friends from the XIIth come by again."

Maro nodded again, and the lady left. When she had fully left the store he gave a long exhale and looked to Varnado, "See? See! I told you she was a lady from Anticlere! You really need to believe me a little more, you know? I can't remember the last time I was wrong!"

Varnado didn't reply at first. He knew he could make out a crafty look in the lady's eyes right before she left, and he couldn't figure out why. "Rufus… Be careful around that woman, understand?"

"What are you talking about, Varnado? I think you're just jealous! I got a beautiful lady and a giant bid, all in one day! My luck is looking up, Varnado!"

"I'm not sure, Rufus… I have a feeling that Lady Flyte might not be your lady luck…" he muttered under his breath, looking out his small window as Lady Flyte walked away, a cunning and satisfied smile on her dainty face.

* * *

Captain Quintilius' jaw slacked when he entered Fort Nikel. "Gods above," he mouthed in a mixture of horror and awe, "This legion…! They've gone native!"

Around him was a caricature of a real, respectable legionary fort. He had a feeling at the start that he was in for a unique visit (A couple of tribal totems had been erected right outside the gates) and inside the base his fears were confirmed. The torches had some sort of chemical added to them that cast the garrison in an eerie red light. The ground was moist with puddles and a thin mist, which gave the air a heavy quality to it. Every so often some sort of jungle hex or charm was put up, some incorporating reptilian skulls. For a moment, the good captain forgot he was in an Imperial commissioned fort and instead in some cultist's den.

His footsteps echoed a plishing noise as he walked down the quiet halls. He tried his hardest not to look unnerved, if only for his two friends at his side than the soldiers here. Indeed, they were mostly Argonian and kept themselves hidden in the shadows. He could see in the corners of the larger rooms red eyes peering from the blackness out of him; he could hear the hushed whispering of voices or the primordial hissing of infernal lizards. The ground was littered with scraps of things- metal, organic matter, bones- that the captain had to actively step around during his trek into the belly of the structure. He occasionally felt something wet and slimy slip across his head, and upon further inspection it revealed itself to be a sort of exotic plant that grew from the ceilings.

Quintilius' muscles tensed as he approached the end of the fort, and what he could only assume were the general's quarters. The door was a large, undecorated slab of metal whose sole distinctive feature was an 'XII' engraved into it. Outside the door stood an Argonian and Imperial, both heavily scarred, who stared unceasingly at the captain. "Captain Quintilius to see General Erasmus Servius," he announced in a loud if somewhat shaky voice.

The Argonian made a noise from deep within his throat and opened the door. The captain gave an unreturned salute and entered the door. The chamber he now entered was unlike the base in some ways. It was orderly and rational, as if it were a true general's quarters. However, the heavy air lingered here, as did the foreboding feeling of being a sort of prey in a hunter's den- a deep, instinctual fear which constantly grew in the captain's mind. In the center of the room stood a desk, which had nothing on it but a lavish, ebony stand. The item looked as though it should hold aloft a sphere, but nothing was on it at the time. Sitting in a chair right behind the desk was the general Erasmus Servius. He had his feel propped up on the desk, and seemed unaware of Quintilius' presence. He kept himself occupied by sharpening a standard issue Imperial shortsword, a dated model that had fallen out of fashion years ago, with a whetstone. With every swipe a sharp, metallic sound issued from the sword, as if it were being unsheathed. Quintilius stood at attention for over a minute, listening to that clang resound about the room. "Captain Quintilius, sir," he said at last, giving the veteran a salute.

Servius said nothing and continued to sharpen his shortsword, the noise continuing to violently break the silence. After another minute the man's one cold, gray eye rolled up and looked at the captain. "And?" he inquired, with the sharp clang of the whetstone immediately following.

Normally, Quintilius was quick to respond. It was his wit that carried him. But in front of this man, his normally sharp wit was dulling away with every terrible scrape of the stone. "I… I am here to welcome you and the XIIth to Cyrodiil…"

Then noise of the stone slashed through the captain's ears again, as if it could tear apart his ear as easily as the blade itself. "A welcoming, eh?" Servius said as he continued to sharpen his sword, 

"How droll. Captain, I've already been introduced to this place by a couple of buffoons. I really don't need another one."

The next sharpening of the sword was particularity loud, as if to emphasize his point. Quintilius flinched at the cacophonous anthem, sorely wishing he were back home. "I've also brought you this," he said, hesitantly placing a stack of parchment on Servius' desk, "We'll need this completed within the week-"

The captain was cut off by the final strike of the whetstone. Servius dropped his legs down from the table and sat upright, looking at Quintilius with his eye, "Paperwork?"

The silence the room took on without the horrid noise of the stone was unnerving enough that Quintilius began to wish that it would ring once more. "For next week, sir."

The corner of Servius' mouth turned upwards ever so slightly. "Paperwork? Perhaps you don't understand, captain. We're not the Imperial Guard- We're the Legion. And the XIIth doesn't function with 'paperwork'. The XIIth doesn't do 'paperwork'. 'Paperwork' is for the guards who live in their comfortable towns."

Quintilius opened his mouth in a vain attempt to respond, "I-It's very important, sir. The Commander needs these-"

The grey haired general snorted to cut the captain off. "Civello? That… Civello is demanding numbers from me? Oh," he laughed, "Now I see... Listen, Quintus, I'm going to show you what I think of Civello's demand for me to tell him all about my XIIth."

Servius reached across the table and placed his hand over the parchment. Under his palm a small globe of fire formed, floating in midair. It then suddenly shot towards the desk, incinerating the parchment and reducing to ashes. "That is what I think of his 'paperwork'. The affairs of the XIIth are the affairs of the XIIth. Is that clear, captain?"

"Y-Yes, sir-"

"Good," Servius said, throwing his legs back on the table, "Is there anything else you wished to discuss with me, Captain Quintus? We've all the time in the world…" the general said trailing off and resuming the sharpening of his blade.

Quintilius opened his mouth, but was cut off by the clang of the metal. During the short break between clashes the nervous man managed a, "No, sir…"

"Oh no?" Servius said as the whetstone made its way down the sword, "What a pity… I was hoping to speak with you more. Regardless, I'm sure you're a very busy man, so why don't you turn around and go tell our friend Civello what I told you, eh?"

Quintilius nodded hastily and turned around. He wasted no time exiting the fort as quickly as he could, trying not to mind the sound of running water in the darkness, or the smell of rot which was all the more evident after leaving Servius' room. As Captain Quintilius left the primeval fort and gazed upon the Niben he was unusually thankful for his native Cyrodiil. As he looked back upon the totems which identified the fort as the XIIth's he shook his head. "The Man from Argonia… I never want to meet _him again."_


	9. Four Ways to Spend a Morning

"Bowl of porridge, plain."

"Oh, I'll have what cap'n is having! But extra milk in mine. Oh, and some honey, too!"

"I'll also have some porridge, with molasses."

Hieronymus Lex and his two companions were seated in Luther Broad's Boarding House. The three sat at the counter, and after their orders were taken Broad started cooking their food. All three were off duty at the moment, making it one of the first times in weeks that Lex wasn't in some incarnation of his uniform in public.

Guilliam laughed brightly. "Ah, this is great! I can't even remember the last time I had breakfast outside the barracks! I swear, if I have to have another one of their meals just one more day, I'm going to scream, eh cap'n?"

Kirania took a drink from her cup and looked at her superior, "Yes, captain, I heard that you rarely go into the city while you're off duty. Is this some special occasion?"

"No, not really, " The captain said, looking into his mug morosely, "I just felt like treating you two to a good meal. We never got to that lunch yesterday."

Guilliam blinked, "Lunch?"

"Nevermind," Lex said with a sigh and took a drink from his mug.

The youngest of the trio shook his head, "I guess so… Anyway, cap'n, did you keep up with all the news while you were in Anvil? I mean, do they get the Courier down there? I have a cousin who worked in County Anvil, and he didn't know much about current affairs."

Lex shook his head, "Not really," he started in a listless tone, "I heard the big news, like the whole Martin affair and the recalls. Other than that I really haven't cared too much. That whole paper has turned into a weekly sheet of gossip. Didn't they try to say that the Champion became mad, or such nonsense?"

"Yeah, cap'n, that was during a slow news time. Well, come to think of it, ever since the Crisis ended it's been slow news, 'sides the recalls. But with this whole announcement about Emperor up I reckon it's going to become far more interesting!" Guilliam announced, leaning on the edge of his stool. "I know you don't like politics, but who do you wager'll get a recommendation?"

"Rich, Colovian Imperials," Kirania snorted, "Those recommendations are rarer than diamonds, only some rich man will be able to get them. Why does it matter who gets the recommendation?"

Guilliam gave a disillusioned frown. "Well… I wouldn't put it that way, y'know?"

"Well, that's the way it is. Do you really think a beastfolk, or even an elf, could-"

"That's enough, you two," Lex said with a tired quality to his voice, "Even if we're not in uniform we still need to look respectable in public."

The two straightened their posture immediately. "Yes, sir!" they chirped in unison.

The captain took another long drink from his mug. After a moment of silence he eyed Guilliam, who was chewing one of his nails. "So, Guilliam, you keep up with news. What can you tell me about Commander Civello?"

"Commander Civello? Well, I dunno, cap'n. He keeps to himself a great deal, all locked up in his office. He's a micromanager, I suppose. I mean," he said, shifting his body over to Lex, "This one time, Kirania and I were going to shut down some skooma den, right? It's sort of dangerous, but everyone inside would be all skoomaed up, so it'd be child's play. But right when we were goin' out into the fray we were stopped by that weird secretary of his. The one with the gross mustache of his, y'know? And he told us that we weren't supposed to go on our own, and we needed to fill out papers with two signatures. By the time we hunted down the officials we needed to find the den had broken and reestablished somewhere else. It's all beaucratic-"

"Bureaucratic," Kirania corrected.

"Bureaucratic now. Not like under Phillidia. With Phillidia, you'd just get a captain to give you the nod, and you were off! But now- gah! Civello's reforms are a nightmare!"

Lex looked at his mug, "So he's the ineffective type, eh?"

"Well… Not when it comes to the Brotherhood. He's a demon when it comes to the Brotherhood. Almost as into it as Phillida was."

Setting down his mug, Lex turned his head to Guilliam, "Against the Brotherhood?"

"Oh yeah! Didn't you hear? He personally led the attack which flushed out one of their hideouts Well, I think the real word is sanctum, or something. But anyway, it was right here in the Imperial City! Right under our noses!"

As Lex leaned towards Guilliam, his attention captured, Kirania looked over the captain from the corner of his eye. From it's depths one could see a ponderous shimmer, yet it lasted for only a moment. Like a ghost it retreated back into her eye as she sipped from her cup. As for Guilliam, he had become excited once more, having been able to get is normally aloof mentor engaged, "Well, cap'n, he didn't so much as lead it as was present, but for Civello that's a big deal! He doesn't have any rounds anymore, and doesn't oversee any operations, so it was pretty amazing when he personally showed up to inspire the troops. Oh, I'll tell you the whole story, cap'n! We got time before the food comes!"

"Well, so this was about… Two months after you were reassigned? That sounds about right. Well, anyway, some info got leaked that that abandoned house, the one on Pelagius Way, which all the kids said was haunted. Some odd stuff was going on, and they found out that shady people would enter during the night. Well, one evening, without any warning, a few captains come barging in the mess hall and yell that our dinners are canceled and we've got to go all they way to that house. This was about Kirania's first week. Isn't that right, Kirania?"

The bosmer didn't respond at the first call, but then realized Guilliam had been addressing her. "Oh? Oh, yes. That was my fourth day out of training. I thought it was some sort of drill."

"But it weren't no drill, cap'n!" Guilliam said quickly, almost tripping over his words, "We marched ourselves all the way to this house. Civello was standing outside, and he gave us some pep talk about how heroes of the Empire never allow assassins any quarter, or something like that. He has a big vocabulary, y'know? Hard to understand it all... Anyway, there was about twenty of us who went into the old house. Now, in the basement there was the creepy as sin door in the middle of this long hallway. Civello walked over to it and this voice yelled, 'What is the color of the night?'," Guilliam said, waving his hands around for dramatic effect.

Amidst a snicker from Kirania, Guilliam continued his story, "Well, Civello said that he didn't care to the door and called for a battlemage. So the guy walked over to the door and placed his hands upon it. The door talked again, but halfway through it's little speech the battlemage shot so much fire into it that it was blown to the Ashpits! It was the craziest thing you ever saw! Half the hallway was blown to bits!"

"It was very surprising," Kirania said, leaning to the side, "The man must've been a master of Destruction."

Guilliam nodded energetically, "And then Civello yells, 'Charge!', and we all run in, although I still didn't know what we were going against, and gods' blood it was a bunch of Dark Brotherhood people! They weren't totally organized, and we were able to pick them off, one by one. I mean, there was about fifteen of them total, and some odd skeletons. Within an hour we had wiped the place clean, and all the assassins were dead. Then guess what? Civello gave us looting privileges! I made out with an enchanted book."

"Slow down, Guilliam," Lex said with an amused smile, "I can hardly follow you."

"S-Sorry, sir. Well, anyway, when all was said and done we left the basement and walked outside. Civello thanked us all, and the next second the house totally exploded. The battlemage walked out, was paid by the commander, and we all got the rest of the evening off duty! Man, it was the best night ever!"

"And Civello did all that himself?"

"Oh, yes, sir. And after, he-"

Before the youngest could finish his sentence, Luther Broad walked back to the counter. "Alright!" he said in a firm voice, "Which one of you ordered yours with milk and honey?"

Guilliam turned, "Oh, me! That's mine!"

* * *

"She doesn't want skooma! Habasi searches for the green substance!"

Sugar-Lips Habasi growled under her breath at the man before her. She wasn't really in a good mood. All her searches so far today had been in vain. She had woken up early to start her search for felshine, and had spent the better part of the morning scouting around the Waterfront. All the usual spots were still selling skooma, meaning that her job to discover the source of the ichorious concoction was progressing at a snail's pace. After having no luck at those areas, she decided to check out one of her haunts from her earlier years. Unfortunately, it was run by, in her opinion, the second most infuriating man in the City, after Christophe.

She was currently at a small, makeshift stand that had been thrown up next to the wall of a building. From the looks of it, it sold ceramic goods, with bowls, platters and cups all stacked up around each other. The shopkeeper she was with was an older man, an Imperial who had reached middle age. He shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, kitten. I don't sell felshine. Too risky."

Habasi bared her teeth, "Not kitten! Habasi is Habasi," she hissed.

The man put his hands up. "Come now, kitten. It's just like old times. I haven't seen you in… Twenty-five years, hasn't it been? Can't I call my best customer by her term of endearment?"

"She's not young anymore," Habasi said, shaking her head, "And many things about her… Changed out east."

The dealer crossed his arms. "Apparently so."

An awkward moment came and passed. The dealer coughed, "Well, kitten, like I said, I don't deal with felshine. You don't want to see what that does to customers after a month. Reduced to quivering shells of their former selves, it's really a damned shame."

Habasi gave the dealer a bitter smile. "This one didn't know that Agrippa had a conscience."

The dealer gave Habasi a smile in return, revealing the several gaps within his teeth, "Oh, don't misunderstand me. It's just that when the withdrawal kicks in those poor bastards are useless. They don't make money, and I couldn't sell any more felshine. At least with skooma they can function, right?"

"Habasi is glad you're still a terrible person."

"Would you have me any other way?" Agrippa laughed.

"Yes, she could, but that isn't important," Habasi said, "Where can Habasi find more information about felshine?"

"Felshine…? Well, you could try the shadier parts of the Waterfront, I suppose, where there ain't much guards and the Guild doesn't do business… Or you could hit up Bravil, I suppose. They say that the stuff first came from Bravil…" Agrippa said with a shrug, "Besides that, I can't help you."

"Is that really all you know?" Habasi asked, leaning forward at the aging older man.

"I swear, that's all I know, kitten! I'm a skooma man, through and through. If I knew any more, I'd tell you!" he said with a laugh, putting his hands up front of him.

The kahjiit clicked her tongue in her mouth in irritation. "Then Habasi will find someone who isn't useless and does know."

Habasi turned away from the man and started to walk to a different part of town. However, before she got very far she could hear someone walking behind her, and by the pace it had to be Agrippa. She turned around and looked at the man tiredly. "What?" she said, even before she had confirmed the person with her vision or smell.

Agrippa was indeed behind her, flashing her his checkerboard smile. "Habasi, I just want to tell you one thing before you go."

The thief crossed her arms, eyeing the Imperial with her fatigued eyes. "Which is…?"

"Habasi… I wouldn't get involved with felshine if I were you. It's really not worth it. You do not want to know what it can do to your system. Really, trust me," he said with a frown, "You'd best not put that nose of yours where it doesn't belong, understand…?"

Habasi rolled her eyes in response. "Habasi isn't a child anymore. She understands all this. And besides, she doesn't do this because she wants to. This is Habasi's last job for the Guild. She does this because she has to."

"Be that as it may, you have an… Addictive personality. I'd really hate to see anything bad happen to you, you see? It'd be of no fault of your own, but that green stuff is bad news. I still have a little guild clout; why don't I transfer this job off to some youngblood? It'd work out just fine for everyone. What say you, Habasi…?"

"Habasi isn't young. She can take care of herself," the thief replied simply.

"You're right, you're right… Just take care of yourself, understand? I'd hate to see something happen to you."

"You can say that," Habasi sneered, "But Agrippa really doesn't care what happens to Habasi."

"Caught me again," the older man said, starting on his way back, "I could never really fool you, even back then."

"No," Habasi muttered, more to herself than anyone, "You couldn't."

* * *

Maro Rufus was walking in the Arboretum, enjoying everything around him. While he glanced at the many plants, a certain flower caught his eye and he bent down to pick it. With one deft movement of his hand he separated the head of the flower from the stem, then gently rubbed the petal between his thumb and middle finger. He looked to the woman standing to his right and smiled. "This is Golden Kanet. You hardly see it out here, you know? It grows out east, though, and very well at that. The stem is poisonous, and they say that chewing the petals is unlucky. But if you grind up the head after taking off the petals and mix it up it does wonders to restore your strength."

The lady at his side daintily put her hand to her mouth and giggled, "My, Mr. Rufus, I had no idea you knew so much about plants! Pray tell, are you an amateur herbologist?"

Maro took great pride in the fact he knew both the words 'amateur' and 'herbologist'. "No, my lady, but I learned quite a bit from my grandmother when I was a child. She was a very dedicated gardener, and I helped her every afternoon. As you might've guessed, I learned a lot about plants."

The Lady Flyte set her parasol on the ground and leaned towards Maro on it, "Oh…?" she asked, "So you learned all about the plants of Cyrodiil…?"

Lady Flyte knew that she was by no means gorgeous, so she had long learned how to use her limited seductive resources to their fullest. One of those were her eyes. She could covey all emotion she wanted with those eyes, which was having its desired effect on Maro at the moment. "N-not just Cyrodiil, my lady," he said with a blush, "But from all over the Empire. Stoneflowers from Morrowind, bloodmoss from the Black Marsh, kingsbloom from High Rock, rollagh from Skyrim- She had a huge collection. I needed to categorize it all, to, every day… It was really a hassle, now that I think about it!" he ended with a laugh.

Lady Flyte smiled at him with a slight tilt of the head, "Oh, I'm sure it was. Tell me, Mr. Rufus, if you worked with plants so much when you were younger, what made you go off and start your profession in selling light armor?"

Maro started to walk again, as did Lady Flyte, "Well, I wound up joining the legion, to help support my grandmother. It was just my luck that I was stationed outside of Dune of all places, though. Dune is a nasty place- the summer days are unbearably hot and the winter nights are unbelievably cold. And since the general didn't like us going into town, we all needed to find something to keep us occupied, or else we'd go insane. I mean, we were stuck in a fort in the desert, it wasn't like we had anything to do besides rounds. I worked with the fort's light armor, keeping it in good shape and everything. It sounds boring, but upkeeping armor can be a nice way to keep your mind off the sun and scorpions."

"Scorpions?"

"Oh, yes… They get real large in the desert, for some reason. They mainly come out at night, though. I once built a trap out there and caught one the size of a watermelon!"

"Oh heavens! A watermelon?"

"Oh, yes! Terrible brute, that one."

"Hmm… Oh, pardon me, Mr. Rufus," Lady Flyte said out of the blue, "But could you go over there and fetch me a copy of the Courier? I haven't kept up with the news in some time, I'm ashamed to say."

Maro's eyes light up. "Oh, of course I can! I'll be back in no time!"

Maro ran off in search of some paper distributor, while Lady Flyte exhaled softly. As she played with the edge of one of her gloves, one of the flame-shielded guards who had been keeping watch from afar approached her. "My Lady," he began, "I do not wish to sound out of place, but I would advise you to stop walking around with that man, or at least without another male escort. You'll brew up a storm of controversy-"

The Lady Flyte shot a poisonous glare at the knight. "You are out of place. What I do is in the best interests of Anticlere. I don't need to tell my father that you're being impudent, do I?"

"Forgive me, my lady," the guard said, without any spirit, "Your wisdom is eternal."

"Damn right my wisdom is eternal…" the Lady Flyte muttered with scowl, still fiddling with her gloves.

A couple of minutes later Maro returned with a large sheet of parchment. "I got it! I've got the courier!"

Lady Flyte turned her face into another beaming smile. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Rufus! This city is so large, I normally have no idea where to find a decent copy of the newspaper."

The lady took the paper from Maro and read the header. Her face quickly became concerned as she began to read the sheet at a rapid pace. Maro's interest became piqued, and he took a look over the parchment himself.

_**SPECIAL EDITION!**_

_**ALMALEXIA TAKEN BY REBELS!**_

_Late last night the gates of Almalexia were broken down in a blatant display of defiance from the United Morrowind Army. The defenders of the city fought valiantly to defend it from the horde, but the sheer mass of enemies make it necessary for the loyalists to fall back into the inner city of Mournhold._

_The pace of the enemy army was faster than anticipated, and the other brave soldiers of the Empire were sadly unable to reach the city before the natives'. The battle lasted only for half of an hour until the call to withdraw was given, conserving the limited loyalist troops. _

_Our interviewers were actually able to get a comment from one of the leaders of the rebel army, Ordinator Barel Sala. "We will continue to purge you outlanders from our native, ancestral homeland until Morrowind is ours once more or we die by your swords. Now begone from me, n'wah!" After those words, our reporters were expelled from the city._

_Also of note is the disappearance of King Helseth Hlaalu, who has seemed to have escaped the city with the King Mother and a few royal retainers. Moral is still high for the soldiers inside the palace grounds, however, even with their king gone. "If my liege sees it best to leave, I will accept that it is a strategic move to protect further Imperial interests in Morrowind," said Flax Amelius, a royal guard, "I'll lay down my life for this city, whether or not the king's here or not!"_

_With proud guards like Mr. Amelius, it still seems hopeful that Imperial stability and law can be re-introduced into the region. Early this morning, Regent Ocato and the Elder Council had an emergency session to discuss strategy concerning the situation out east. Several generals have openly voiced that they intend to head east as well, regardless of the Council's decision. _

Lady Flyte looked at Maro, who was now frowning himself. "Oh, don't worry," she said blithely, "The Empire has suffered though worse! If we could kill Camoran the Usurper, we can easily handle some uppity Dunmer."

Lady Flyte opened her parasol. "Now, Mr. Rufus, it has been a pleasure but I promised to meet my traveling companions in less than an hour from now. I really must be going. But I do hope to see you again. Perhaps discuss the XIIth? Oh, well, look at the time! Farewell!" she said, quickly breaking away from the shopkeeper and walked off, before Maro could even say a word.

Maro opened his mouth, closed it, and looked at the sky for a moment. Lady Flyte's bizarrely abrupt manner of leaving surprised even him. "… She left with hardly a goodbye…" he mused to himself, "… Which means… She was far to flushed to even speak to you anymore! Maro Rufus, you are a man's man!"

He laughed once, then turned and started to head back to his store. Halfway there he remembered that it was Varnado's day off, and the store had been totally unattended for the entire morning. Upon the realization, he broke into a run.

* * *

The sunlight of summer was lost to the factors of the East Empire Company. They sat in their large, extravagant office, discussing what they always did- business. They were old men, all of them. About two thirds were of Imperial decent, the other third being Breton and Altmer. The factors sat around a long table, made of the finest imported wood, which along with the dark purple wallpaper made the room seem both expensive and tranquilizing. The old men talked with their quiet, if gritty, voices about facts and figures, imports and exports, profits and losses.

Sitting at the end of the table a rough old man spoke up over the others, "Gentlemen, let it be settled…! We shall continue to hold assets in reserve for Caldera for when those Dunmer decide to bow down to the will of the Empire…"

There was a mumble of agreement from the crowd, which stopped to allow the old man to stand up. His formal robes didn't flow as he stood, but remained ridged to his seating posture. The old man gave a rough cough before he began speaking, "Now then, gentlemen… As you all know, we do have one final issue on the agenda… Regent Ocato has found it pertinent to give the Company one of the elusive recommendations for Emperor… He made it clear that he wants an emperor at the year's end, and we need to give him the name before the end of the week-"

The other factors suddenly gave out a raucous yell of disapproval, drowning out their leader's words, "By Akatosh, by the end of the week!? That's preposterous!"

"Has that Ocato lost his mind!? How can we chose our candidate by the end of the week?!"

"Ocato's gone mad! He's so worried about a revolt that he's not even allowing us a month! How can he expect us to do this!"

As the factors mumbled amongst themselves in mutual distaste of Ocato, one mismatch stood from the lout. Instead of moth devoured robes he was clad in the armor of the Imperial Legion, with the numerals 'XII' engraved into his right pauldron. He was old, true (Some of his long black hair was starting to gray), but he had an energy and vigor that the rest of the factors totally lacked, "Gentlemen! Why must we argue among ourselves? This problem can be solved quickly and efficiently if we look at this rationally," he began slowly, opening up his arms.

One factor, a wizened old Imperial, shook his hand at the solider, "What's this about, Servius! You're no factor! You don't need to speak!"

Servius gave a cruel grin to the old man, "Oh, come… I might not be a factor to this grand company, but I still see myself as a very special friend to it… In fact, as a friend to the company, I can solve this problem without any fuss. I propose that you give the recommendation to me-"

As he finished his sentence the loud cries of disapproval reappeared, almost cutting his off. With a frown he threw his arm across his chest, "Gentlemen, please! Hear me out!"

"What are you trying to do, Servius?" another old man called out, "You know very well that this recommendation is going to one of us, it's useless to try."

Servius shook his head, "Come now! Have you all forgotten the years of close aid that the XIIth provided for you? Throughout all those years, I've asked for nothing in return. Not gold, not stock, not favors- Nothing. All I ask for is this one recommendation. Surely it isn't too much to ask."

Some of the factors laughed aloud. "You must be off your rocker! This recommendation is priceless!"

"No one would give one of these recommendations to someone outside of their own, 'general'!"

"What a cad you are, Servius! What's next? You want the Eltonbrand, or the Head of Scourge? Har!"

Servius stoically stood by as the factors guffawed and snorted. When the condescending spectacle was over, the leader of the table stood and looked at the general. "Now, Servius, I know you're an ambitious man, but you must think about this. We're the East Empire Company. Not the Legion. While you are a good friend to us, I simply can not see a scenario where we give away this recommendation. Can I offer something else? Perhaps you'd like some stock, or maybe a seat as factor? The Nerevarine has been gone so long I can surely give you that position."

"I can assure you, what I want is the recommendation and the recommendation alone. But please, my good sirs, you didn't give me the opportunity to make my argument as to why you should chose me for your candidate. You can allow me a few minutes of your time, I hope…?"

The old man looked at Servius in the eye for as long as he could, then lowered his gaze, "… Very well. You have three minutes, no more. You had better make one hell of an argument, Servius."

Servius grinned, looking for a moment like a hunter closing in on some helpless prey. "I won't even need that. Now, gentlemen," he began, "As we all know the XIIth and the East Empire Company have a long and fruitful relationship. Our two organizations are like family, for as long as the Company has existed the XIIth has aided her. Did we not pave the roads in the Black Marsh that your caravans use? Did we not keep said roads clean of creatures and bandits? Indeed, we, the XIIth legion, have constantly provided our aid to you in all situations, be them good or bad."

The leader of the factors was surprised that the general spoke well. Servius came off as abrasive in his underlings' reports, and shadowy in the rumors he had heard. Could that be the same man who stood speaking each word so deliberately, twisting every syllable to best carry his wishes? "And my friends, the Company certainly has fallen upon hard times, hasn't she? It's really a pity about Morrowind. All those revolts and all. What did your dossier say the company's losses were?"

"Don't play that card, Servius!" a voice called out, "We still have the offices in the south, and it's only a matter of time before the legions resecure the region!"

Servius glanced at the man, his heavily scarred face covered in mock surprise, "Resecure? Well, I suppose you have a point there. But, mister factor, do keep in mind that we have no idea how long it will be before the legions redeploy there. It could be a few months, maybe a few years… And by that time I'm sure the Dunmer will reach a zenith of anti-Western feeling… Even the Hlaalu might side against the Company… But why am I speaking about this? Forgive me, a solider like myself often gets distracted."

"What I was going to say was the future of my legion. The XIIth have set up temporary camp right across the river. However, I'm sure you know, not even I know how long we'll be there. It could be months… And when we redeploy? It could be anywhere, you know. Not just the Black Marsh- the rebellious Morrowind, perhaps? Now, while I would like to return to the Black Marsh, I very well may not. Which leads me to say, if I do not return to the Marsh, who will? Another legion, to be sure, but I doubt they'll know the root people as I do… That's what they call me, right," Servius said with a sly smile, "'The Man from Argonia'? Bit of a misnomer, but it does convey a point… I'm just saying that if I'm not properly compensated for all my long friendship, I very well may move my legion to greener pastures."

The leader of the factors narrowed his graying eyes, "What are you implying, Servius?" he wheezed out.

"Implying? No, I'm 'implying' nothing. I'm stating," Servius said, his voice becoming blunt, "If I don't get this recommendation, you can consider the relations between the XIIth and the Company irrevocably severed. And last time I checked, all your remaining offices are in the Marsh, correct? It's a dangerous place, the Marsh. They say the only two people who truly understand it are the root people themselves… And the XIIth. Without us, your business will have quite a bit more danger in any operations you may undertake there. And while normally this wouldn't be a problem, you lost two-thirds of your market with Morrowind. You don't have the privilege of being loose with the coinpurse. 'Squeeze every Septum', right?"

One factor, a haughty looking Altmer, stood up, "Are you proposing an ultimatum to us?"

"Why, of course I am," Servius said simply, "If you want it condensed, if I don't get the recommendation the XIIth are going to selectively ignore the Company in the Black Marsh. It's nothing personal. But you see, what's good for me is good for the XIIth is good for the East Empire Company. And if I do get this recommendation, the XIIth's protection will be as it always has been."

Servius sat himself down and threw his booted feet upon the exquisite table, the metal causing deep gashes into the wood. "And that is why I believe you should give the recommendation to me."

Servius could hear the whispers of "That thug!" in the crowd and see their contorted faces, but he didn't much care. "You can vote now, if you please," the general added idly, "That way you can spend the rest of the week at your leisure. Isn't that convenient?"

The leader of the factors gave out a long sigh, "Very well. I hereby call for a vote of factors in favor of having the East Empire Company endorse Mr. Erasmus Servius for emperor,"

And the old men reacted just as Servius knew they would. "Aye." "Aye". "Aye". "Aye"- they kept coming. Of course, the pompous Altmer gave the only "Nay!", but the general was by no means a perfectionist. "Aye." "Aye." "Aye." "Aye," and finally, "Aye."

"The proposal passes," the leader muttered.

Servius stood. "That's the answer I wanted to hear!" he said while clapping his hands, "I'll be sure to send word to my men still in the Black Marsh to treat your people with the utmost respect and care. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to my garrison. After all, I need to learn how to profit the most of my… Unexpected surprise. Blessings of the Nine," he said while leaving the room.

The moment the door closed behind him the factors exploded into an uproar, "How dare the man treat us in such a disrespectful manner!"

"By Azura, he's nothing but a common street tough! How could he make us play our hand like that!?"

"I'll be sure that the company never forgets this! When he is done squandering this recommendation and we get our Morrowind offices back, the Emperor will hear some very choice words about that XIIth!"

The only man who didn't seem militant was the leader. He sat with his arms folded over one another, blankly staring down the table while his companions voiced their frustrations. His listless eyes looked at nothing and his wrinkled face showed no emotion. "By Akatosh…" he breathed so softly that it was impossible to hear, "What have we done? What will that man do…?"

The cries of anger would go on for several more minutes.

* * *

The three guards left Luther Broads, and to his credit Lex didn't look quite as crestfallen as when he had entered. He and Guilliam were looking at Kirania, who shook her hair as she entered the sunny streets of the Imperial City, "Well, sometimes I do miss Valenwood, but city life isn't terrible. Besides, I'm good at-"

"Hey, cap'n!" Guilliam interrupted suddenly, "Look over there!"

The young guardsman pointed across the road to a nearby wall. To most people, it would have been an innocent affair. Two children were peeling off a poster that was put up on the wall, which wasn't technically illegal. However, for Lex, this was equivalent to hearsay. Those children were pulling down his wanted posters. "You rapscallions! Freeze!" he yelled in his booming voice.

The two children tensed in shock as Lex all but ran over to them. He arrived with his younger companions arriving a few moments later with a resolute and merciless look in his eyes. That glare was enough to break inexperienced criminals, and when used upon the children inspired total terror in their young hearts. "What do you think you are doing?" Lex said slowly, annunciating every word.

One of the children, a Redguard of no more than ten years, was already at the brink of tears, "W-w-we w-was takin' down t-t-the posters to m-make p-parchment birds."

The captain didn't move a muscle and allowed the children to live under his reign of terror for a few moments. Behind him, Guilliam frowned in disappointment and Kirania in disapproval. "… Parchment birds?"

The young boy nodded shakily and held up the poster. The Gray Fox's face had collapsed into itself into the folds of the parchment bird, a rather common childhood toy. Lex himself remembered tossing some off from the battlements of Bravil and watching them descend into the Niben Bay, slowly spinning and dancing with the wind as they fell. As the captain looked at their horrified faces, he could almost hear Civello's baritone in the back of his head, 'Focus on image! Forget the Gray Fox!'. Behind him the much more real calls of "Captain…" and "Cap'n…" sounded.

Hieronymus Lex then broke off his gaze and looked up into the sky, "Very well, children. Carry on."

With that he turned on his heel and started for the door to the next district. Before he got there he heard Guilliam's voice call from behind, "Cap'n Lex…"

Lex stopped and faced his young companion. Guilliam looked at him for a few moments before speaking. "… I know you were a little hard on them, but those were your Gray Fox posters. Aren't you going to tell them to put it back up, but politely?"

The captain closed his eyes and thought for a moment before he responded, "Guilliam… At this point in time I… Have other issues at hand other than the Thieves' Guild."

With that, Lex continued on his walk. Guilliam opened his mouth in shock, unable to form a reply before Lex left. He gave a helpless glance to Kirania, then scurried off after his captain. Kirania took a moment before she followed. The inquisitive look returned to her eyes as she watched the young Breton run through the gates. "Lex… What is going on in your head…?"

She then realized that the two had left the district, and quickly doubled her pace to catch up to them.


	10. Dealings in the Dark

Hieronymus Lex entered Giovanni Civello's office at eight o'clock sharp. He realized throughout the course of the day that the news that he received Civello's recommendation had been spread about, as all the staff in the offices had greeted him with an insincere warmness. Civello's secretary in particular had on the most bizarrely forced smile that Lex had ever encountered. All in all, the affair left Lex more than a little uncomfortable, and knowing Civello, the day was only going to get worse.

The office looked as it always did, overly extravagant and tactless. Civello was seated in his great chair, fully engaged in what Lex could only assume was his dinner. Lex saluted once, which caught the Legionary Commander's attention. "Ah, my dear Hieronymus," he said with his silly grin, "Please, sit down."

Lex proudly strode to the tiny chair that Civello had on the other side of the desk and watched the man eat. "This," Civello said between bites, "Is fantastic. It's fresh duck with an orange sauce imported from Hammerfall. And I also have my vegetables and a loaf of artisan bread. Please, Hieronymus, have a bite. I shan't take no for an answer!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I already ate."

"Hieronymus, I do believe you are lying to me. But that's all right. I forgive you," the commander replied with a wink and went back to eat his meal.

As Civello ate, Lex couldn't help stare at the man with a confused look on his face. This portly man who was enjoying a princely meal while others hardly brought in the year's harvest, the man who managed to patrol the shortest routes for the shortest times as captain, the man who cared more about the palace's opinion of him than the criminals who infested the streets… This was Phillida's successor?

"Hieronymus, you've the queerest look on your face," Civello commented between bites, "Is there anything on your mind?"

"… Sir. I heard that you led an attack on the Dark Brotherhood not too long ago."

"Oh?" Civello said, looking up from his meal, "Well, I suppose you could say that. But 'led' is too strong a word, Hieronymus. I was just there to inspire courage. Nothing more."

"That's…" Lex paused to choose his words, "Very modest of you, sir."

Civello put down his fork and gave Lex a knowing smile. "'Very'? You meant 'uncharacteristically', didn't you? Don't deny it, old boy, I saw your lips forming the word. Remember, I value honesty, especially in you, Hieronymus."

Lex stared across the table at the older man, a silly grin on his lips. The captain made no effort to deny what Civello had proposed. "You see, Hieronymus, all men hold certain things close to their hearts. Their passions, so to speak. Your fascination with the Gray Fox, for instance, that's what I'm talking about. And besides good food," Civello said with a little chuckle, "I have to say that one of my passions is an urge to quash the Dark Brotherhood."

Lex didn't say anything in return, which caused Civello to laugh once more. "Hieronymus, you need to be more open with me!"

"Pardon?"

"You didn't say anything, but I could tell by your eyes you wanted to know why I would fight the Brotherhood. Please, old boy, if you have a question feel, free to ask me. We're going to working closely in this next year, you know. I'd feel much more comfortable if you could speak your mind, Dagon take the formalities!"

"I understand, sir."

There was a silence between them. Civello didn't even take a bite of his enormous meal spread before him. "Well…?" the Commander said at last.

"Sir?"

"Aren't you going to ask me why I fight the Brotherhood."

Lex withheld a sigh. "Yes, sir. Commander, why to you fight against the Dark Brotherhood?"

Civello gave Lex one of his broad, silly grins. "Oh, Hieronymus, I'm so glad you asked that question!" he declared, returning to his meal, "I'm glad to know you're curious about these things. Curiosity is a very esteemable trait! But first, you must guess. Oh, yes, that will be fun! Take a guess, old boy," the commander said, setting down his utensils and folding his hands.

"I've… No idea, sir. Perhaps you lost a family member or a lover-" Lex cut himself off, looking at the bizarre older man, "I mean, a family member?"

"Ah, close, Hieronymus, close…" Civello said with a thin smile, although his mood was sobering. "The real reason why involves a mutual acquaintance of ours… Adamus Phillida."

Lex's ears perked up. "Commander Phillida?"

"Yes…" Civello said, his normally foolish grin replaced by an evermore contemplative frown, "I've made it my sworn duty to destroy the Brotherhood for Phillida's sake."

"But, commander, may I be so bold as to ask why?" Lex said, leaning forward, "I mean… I don't recall you two being close friends."

"We weren't. Phillida never really cared for me, my dear Hieronymus. He thought that I was soft, you see. It was his private opinion that the only way I rose through the ranks was due to my uncle. He hated that," Civello said reflectively, "That man pulled himself up from the bootstraps. 

He went from poverty in Leyawiin to the Legionary Commander through his own determination and skills. That how he got his nickname, 'the incorruptible.' And he saw me as you all see me, a rich old man who pulled some strings to gain my post. Needless to say, any relationship between us was strained."

"… Sir, I don't understand why you would do that for him."

"Yes you do, Hieronymus. You're just not looking at it in the right way," Civello said as he stood up and walked to a cabinet at the back of the room. "You see, respect and friendship are two totally different things. I disliked Phillida, true, and he disliked me. But there was never any question that I didn't respect the man. He couldn't manage affairs, there's no question there. But he strove as hard as he could for what he truly believed in. Do you know many people in high stations devote themselves fully to crusading a noble cause?" he asked, glancing at Lex out of the corner of his eye.

"No, I don't," Lex said simply in response.

Civello nodded as he returned to his desk. In his hand he held a bottle of Cyrodillic Brandy. "Indeed. We live in a rotten, corrupt world, Hieronymus. And people like Phillida strove to make it better, and never once trying to better his own personal situation. It's the sort of nobility you only find in stories," the older man mused, pouring the brandy into a couple of ornate goblets on his desk. "And that's why I strive to finish that man's work. …It's difficult, being compared to a superior you can never equal. I'm just doing my part to do my duties as guardsman."

Civello set the bottle down, "It's the least I can do. Don't you agree?"

"I believe I do, sir."

The commander lifted one of the drinks so that it was at his chest level, with his arm extended. "To Adamus Phillida."

Lex stood and also picked up a goblet. "To Adamus Phillida."

The guards drank their brandy in silence. When they had finished they returned to their seats. The subject of their discussion quickly changed to Lex's candidacy, and continued in that vein until the early hours of the morning.

* * *

Morrowind at this time was in a state of disarray. Everything from Almalexia north belonged to the temple theocracy, and everything south of Almalexia, as well as most of Mournhold, still was under Imperial rule or influence. Of course, there was no solid border of any variety. Skirmishes and small battles between the two forces meant that the border was constantly moving either northwards or southwards. The poor villages that occupied this region were totally devastated by the war, which was steadily declining into one of attrition.

Both factions found it difficult to make any progress. The Imperial south was dotted with popular uprisings against outlander rule, which forced the precious few legions in Morrowind to be more focused on securing what they had opposed to bringing the fight to the north. The thieves and brigands that made their home in caves became more ambitious and launched raids on targets such as supply convoys and town warehouses, further causing complications for the Imperials. The hearts of most of the common people were held by the Temple, and any pro-western sentiments dissipated when what towns that were still under Imperial rule rolled back traditional liberties and enforced a great deal of capital punishment.

Meanwhile, the Temple in the north had their own difficulties. While the people were easy to control, their once mighty armies had totally stopped upon reaching Almalexia and descended into a mess of logistical nightmares. House rivalries flared, with Redoran forces refusing to cooperate with Hlaalu, Indoril armies demanding better rights than others, and Telvanni often threatening to return home if they didn't receive a disproportionate amount of spoils. This mess was made worse by the actions of Barel Sala, the de facto leader of the Morrowind armed forces, who tried to appease all parties and ultimately appeased no one. Moral in the Morrowind armies dropped and desertion became rampant. Although they had more theoretical strength than the legions, they utterly failed to capitalize on it.

Back in the Imperial Province, many of the withcalled legions were given no orders to move out. Regent Ocato assured the people through various sources that the conflict in the east was going to the Empire's favor, but those in higher positions openly criticized the leader's handling of the civil conflict. At the same time, rumors about other provinces permeated gossip, involving brewing strife in the Summerset Isles and the Iliac Bay…

* * *

The Altmer towers took on a different character at night. While during day they seemed nothing more than gaudy and overly embellished, during the midnight hours everything seemed different. Long, spindly legs of furniture cast unnatural shadows, and odd, sudden noises broke through the night. If Count Umbranox were a superstitious man, he would probably have been worried. However, he didn't give it a second thought. He had seen far worse.

He tread through the darkened halls of the tower he was staying at. As to why he was walking about so late at night, not even he could say. He couldn't fall asleep, which usually meant that something was afoot. He didn't think of it as some sort of sixth sense, but there were times like these where he had an innate suspicion, and one that was almost always warranted.

He walked through a large room that had windows on every wall, and housed a colossal yet delicate silver instrument in the center of the room. It's arms and gears spun silently and peacefully, like an orrery. The count cast a glance outside and noticed an unusual calm had descended on the land. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and it even seemed like there wasn't any wind, even this high above the ground. The count told himself that he must've been wrong and continued on his way.

After he descended another flight of stairs he saw a door that was open with light streaming forth from it. He could hear some words being muttered from within, and he slowly, silently drew himself closer. Putting his ear near the door he could make out a proud voice's words. "… You, and the rest of the XXIIIrd will land on the coast a week after that. Work quickly to establish a base of operations, and with luck you'll be able to carry out the first parts of the operation within four days- Can I help you?"

A few moments of silence passed, and the count realized he had been noticed. He walked slowly and calmly into the room and looked about. Two people stood inside, one was the Altmer diplomat from earlier, his face totally unreadable. The other was an Imperial man donned in legionary gear. He had wispy black hair and a deep scar which ran from the corner of his mouth to right below his ear. The man narrowed his eyes. "Who are you," he barked, "And why are you-"

The Altmer put up his hand to silence the soldier. "Ah, a pleasure to see you once more. What brings you to this part of the tower?" he asked to the count in an emotionless voice.

"I couldn't sleep and I found myself quite thirsty," the count replied in an equally unrevealing voice.

"I see. Yet certainly you could have just called for something to drink. We would have been more than happy to provide something."

"Well, I was also eager to get some walking in. It's easy to become restless when one is in the tower all day."

"Of course."

There was a moment of silence as the count and the diplomat exchanged looks, each not budging an inch in their unreadability. During all this the soldier became increasingly unhappy and felt more and more left out, and it was only a matter of time before he had to say, "Why see here! Who are you to interrupt our conversation!"

The count tossed a cold glance to the soldier. "I am Count Umbranox of County Anvil. So unless you happen to be the legionary commander, sirrah, I suggest you change your tone."

Now the count had had years of dealing with all sorts of people, from the most cultured to diplomats to the most reprehensible of villainous thieves. One thing he had learned over the years was that one could learn much more by watching the responses of a person rather than their verbal reply. And the soldier's bodily response was revealing indeed. He took one step backwards, his pupils flared, and took a deep breath in. He was scared, and not just because a count was angry with him. He registered some sort of threat or danger. "I-I beg your pardon, sire. I am Titus Varro, lieutenant general of the XXIIIrd legion. It is truly an honor to meet a count of Cyrodiil, sir."

While the Count Umbranox thought about Varro's response he looked back at the diplomat who stood, as always, without the faintest hint of emotion on his face. "Whatever were you two talking about. I heard something about an operation."

"We were discussing a necromancer's den. We were discussing sending a patrol out to destroy it."

"A necromancer's den? You mentioned something about establishing a base of operations. Forgive me, Anvil has no necromancy troubles, does it really merit a whole base to destroy?"

"It is a very large base."

The count looked at the diplomat, and then to Varro, who had a venire of sweat over his forehead. "Tell me, you mentioned moving the entire legion when I was in the hall, did you not?"

The soldier took another deep breath in, while the diplomat did nothing. "That… Is an option. They are being led by Dolor Bone-Shaper. He is a necromancer of great renown, with a bounty of over fourteen thousand septums."

'He's lying. He has to be,' the count thought, 'But he's totally unreadable. Leave it to an elf…'

The count tossed a glance to the soldier. "You do realize that moving any legion for any reason is grounds to send a report to both the legionary commander and the emperor. I'm certain that your general has."

"O-oh, well, you see, sire, I-"

"My friend here means to say that we've drafted the requests already, but we haven't sent them yet. Regrettably, all of our couriers are busy at this moment. But I'm sure that they'll be ready soon."

The count glanced about at the two. "Well, perhaps you can tell me some more details of your plan. I've corresponded with many magically learned people, and I could help clarify some points, if you so-"

"Unfortunately, my lord, Mr. Varro here has to be leaving soon. And regrettably, I have to also get some paperwork finished. Now, my lord, do you wish for refreshments before we must leave?"

"No, I think that I'll actually be fine."

"Very good."

Another moment of silence. "Well, good evening to you, my lord. If you'll excuse me," the diplomat said quickly leaving the room in a dignified and busy air.

The soldier bowed respectfully and then broke into a near sprint to the door. The count looked about the room. They had left nothing in regards to their 'necromancer hunt'. As the count brooded on what the Altmer were up to, he became more and more aware that nothing could be accomplished at this time. The count decided then to return and retire to his chambers, in hopes to sharpen his mind for the coming days and discover what the 'loyal' Altmer had in store for the Empire.

* * *

"Bah, I hate late night duty. What're we even guarding, anyway?"

"We're keeping an eye out for catburglars and acrobats. Now, sush. We shouldn't talk on duty."

Guilliam stubbornly accepted the fact that Kirania had a point. It didn't help him in his current situation in any way, though. He was standing near the gates that linked the Elven Gardens to the Market District, watching over what seemed to be a quiet city. But then again, even the Imperial City was quiet at two thirty in the morning. He was tired, cold, and bored. Normally the two never had watches that went past ten, but with so many guards out with the 'eastern orientation' for the recalled legions they were on this god-forsaken duty. Guilliam had done everything in his power to keep from falling asleep so far- Counted all the craters in the moons, made his own constellations, improvising lyrics for the crickets' chirp- but he had reached a state of critical boredom. Gossip was all he had.

"What time is it?" he asked, looking upwards.

"It's roughly two o'clock. We'll be relieved at four o'clock. So we have about another two hours on duty. Can't you find something productive to do with your time, Guilliam? When I traveled about at night I used to make my own constellations, you know. It was always a fun way to pass time-"

"I already did that, though."

Kirania rolled her eyes. "Well, I don't know. Why don't you see how high you can count in your head? Or name as many saints as you can. But whatever you do, please just stop talking. I really can't afford any more demerits on my record-"

But before she could finish her sentence she was broken off be the sound of shattering glass from within the district. Kirania's bright Bosmer eyes picked out shards of a second story window plummet from a house not too far away, and a shadowy figure enter it. The two young guards looked at each other. Kirania leaned over to Guilliam, her eyes cold and serious. "Here's the plan. You go investigate the noise and I'll wait here to make sure the exit is blocked," she whispered.

Guilliam nodded, slightly nervous. "I gotcha," he stammered.

The Breton took a deep breath in to compose himself and started to head to what he assumed to be an encounter with a possibly dangerous criminal. His fatigue and boredom was now forgotten, he still couldn't steady his breathing. Meanwhile, Kirania watched him closely. When he was sufficiently far away from her the corners of her mouth turned up into an amused smile. "What a funny fellow," she said to herself.

At the same time, another Bosmer sneaked out from the early morning shadows and slunk over to Kirania. She actually looked much like the guard, with the same hair and eye color, but her loose fitting leather cuirass revealed a life that wasn't dedicated to the public good. The newcomer slipped in and out of the shadows before tapping Kirania in the shoulder lightly. The guard hardened her features as she looked down upon the other condescendingly. "I'm on duty," she said coldly.

The two looked at each other for several tense seconds before both broke out into hysterical laughter. When they had settled down, Kirania was beaming with joy. "Oh, Carwen, I've missed you so much! You've no idea how happy I am to see you!"

Carwen was smiling as well. "I'm happy, to. It's been far too long, Methredhel! How is this legion job going?"

Kirania, or more correctly Methredhel, shook her head, "Heavens, no. You know who I'm paired up with," she asked. "… Hieronymus Lex."

"No!" Carwen said with a smile.

"The captain himself. I could hardly check my face when the boy told me I was going to be serving under the windbag. It's been only a few days but it seems like an eternity. All he does is march around, rough up some beggars and mutter about how the Fox is in every shadow. And that poor boy latches onto every word he says, you know. He'll turn out a crazy if Lex keeps shoving nonsense into his head."

Carwen giggled. "… Well, you know, Lex is one of the reasons that I came over to see you. Christophe actually gave me a message to pass onto you."

"A message?"

"Yeah. Christophe wants you to do something. Apparently there are… Rumors about Lex getting into politics, and-"

"Politics? Hieronymus Lex?" Methredhel said with an amused disbelief.

"Hey, now, don't interrupt. What I'm saying is that Lex may or may not be eyeing the throne. But the Guild wants to err on the side of safety."

Methredhel found a half amused, half confused smile form on her face. "The man hates politics in all forms. Hell, I don't think his mind can conjure up any goal besides the Fox-"

"Listen, Meth, we can talk about this all we want, but it doesn't change the fact you've got orders. Christophe wants you to keep a close eye on Lex. See if he does anything to work on his image or something. But whatever you do, don't let him get on to you, got that? It's curiously rare that we've got an agent on the paranoid fool to begin with."

Methredhel nodded. "Fine. I got ya, Carwen. Say, you want to grab something to eat later this week? I got a little leave coming up."

Carwen allowed her businesslike expression slide into a more happy and easygoing one. "That sounds-" she began, but was cut off by the rapid footsteps coming from down the lane. "Oh, hell! Gotta run, Meth. Shadows hide you."

With that Carwen disappeared into the night, escaping flawlessly. Methredrel sighed and frowned, then looked at Guilliam who was steadily approaching. "Kirania!" he called out, "I found something!"

Methredrel blinked. "W-what? You found something? You can't really mean that."

"No, I did! I found something," he said, half excited and half nervous, "I've never seen anything like it. Look!"

Methredrel walked over to the Breton and looked at what he was holding in his hands. Inside his grip was a small vial, and inside was a slimy green liquid. "This isn't a potion, Kira, it's just too thick. I've never seen anything like it, and I dunno, but I've got this bad vibe-"

"Lemme see that," Methredrel said quickly and grabbed the vial from Guilliam. She walked over to some light and examined the contents of the vial carefully, and the true nature of the substance dawned on her. Her confused look changed to one of shock as she put the vial away.

"Listen, Guilliam," she started, "Don't tell anybody about this, you got that," she said quickly and gravely.

"What do you mean-"

"Nobody! We can't go about showing people this, got that? Don't tell the captain."

"But cap'n Lex-"

"No captain Lex! This has got to be very quiet, alright? Please, Guilliam," Methredrel said, her voice holding a tinge of desperation.

"… Right. I won't tell anyone."

"Good," Methredrel said, pocketing the concoction, "I'm glad I can trust you… Listen, if you want to take a nap, I can cover for you, alright? I don't mind. I'll wake you right before the shift."

"Really? You mean that?" Guilliam asked, his eyes now excited.

"Yeah, yeah. Now get going," Methredrel said with a small smile.

Guilliam smiled a large, goofy grin. "Oh, thanks a million, Kirania! You're a lifesaver!"

The Breton walked off in a good mood. Merthredrel's smile, on the other hand, slowly descended into a thoughtful frown. She put her hand back into her pocket and gripped it tightly. This made her life much more difficult, because now she needed to somehow meet and report this to Christophe. "What the hell is this stuff doing in the Elven Gardens…" she muttered to herself, and leaned against the large wall at her back.


	11. The Flyte of the General

Varnado walked downstairs from his apartment to his store early in the morning, as he always did. He stopped in his tracks, however, when he saw something that he hadn't glimpsed in his entire life. Not only had Maro, for the first time in years, awoken earlier than him, the Imperial was engaged in an amazing endeavor. "Rufus," he asked in an awestruck voice, "Are you… Reading?"

Maro, who was at his desk reading two pieces of writing seemingly at the same time, looked up at his business partner with a smile. "Morning, Varnado," he said in an amicable tone.

The Redguard walked over to where Maro was reading. "God's blood. It looks like you can read something of demi-intellectual value. What do you got there?"

Maro smiled, apparently believing that 'demi-intellectual' was some sort of compliment. "Well, the book is The Argument Against the East, it's by that Indarys fellow who keeps bashing the Empire. It's supposed to be why the Empire should leave the East."

Varnado picked up the book from Maro's desk. "Yes, I've heard of this one. It's Badrak Indarys. He's not just your normal Temple thumper; he's very well educated. I heard this was a good book. And is that the Courier?"

"Sure is. Here, take a look," he said, handing the parchment to Varnado.

_**SPECIAL EDITION!**_

_**PLAGUE- FACT OR FICTION?**_

_Last Morndas, the Farming and Husbandry Guild officially declared 434 to be "the worst harvest year in recent memory". What could be causing our hearty, Cyrodiilic crops to fail? Speculation is abound, and everyone from normal farmers to learned scholars have their opinions on the matter. _

"_Of course it's a plague," states Farmatus Millitides from his farm in the Imperial Reserve, "I've been farming this here plot of land for decades. Every year, even back during the droughts of '20, the crops came through somehow. This year it's different. The crops've come up poor, them that did, at least. I've never seen the likes of it my entire life. I bet the daedras are to blame; some hex that came through their portals."_

_Other voices disagree. "It is superstitious and ignorant to simply blame the daedra," claims noted mage Serern from his office at the academy. "While destruction is certainly part of Methrunes Dagon's sphere, we've never recorded a prolonged plague invoked by him. Instead of turning, yet again, to the Oblivion Crisis as the culprit, which still seems to be fashionable, we could instead examine a variety of factors, such as below average rainfall, ideal breeding conditions for a variety of insects, and a curiously long winter to find the true cause of the harvest difficulties."_

"_While the daedra may not be to blame, a sort of plague isn't out of the question," states herbologist Galinda Sprout-lover, also a member of the academy. "I've heard of many records __of diseases that target plants, and some of the tests we've performed on samples have yielded very fascinating results. A disease that targets plants still might be the culprit, regardless of the academy's official stance on the matter."_

_Yet the Census and Exercise Office offers another option. Their official statement on the matter claimed "There is no plague. There is not even an overly poor harvest. While some areas are encountering odd growing patters, Cyrodiil as a whole is enjoying a bountiful year, with no major deviations from the last decade in terms of grain production." _

"Hah. That's the C and E for you. Looks like the Empire's getting desperate, if they're still trying to cover up the obvious," Varnado scoffed, tossing the parchment back onto Maro's desk. "Why're you even reading these in the first place? It's not like you to be interested in current affairs- Oh. It's for that Flyte woman, isn't it?"

"No," Maro lied pathetically.

The Redguard sighed and went to his desk. "I'm telling you, Rufus, that woman is bad news. It's odd enough a lady from her circles would be caught socializing with a guy like you."

Maro smirked and leaned back in his chair. "Maybe it's the good 'ole 'Rufus charm'. My father used to tell me about it, back when he was still around."

"I'm serious, Rufus. I mean, I've heard about the Flytes," Varnado said, his voice slightly hushed and his face darkening, "The head of their family is one of the most ruthless politicians in the Iliac Bay. And they're still very bitter that the Empire did nothing to intervene when Anticlere was assimilated into Daggerfall. I think that Flyte is up to something, Rufus. I can see it in her eyes. I can't prove it, but by thunder, I've got a feeling."

"I think the only thing she's up to is seeing me," Maro replied with a silly smile.

Varnado nearly slammed his desk in frustration.

* * *

Anticlere was one of the many small nations that dotted the Iliac Bay. It was, before the Warp in the West, of medium strength and influence. Power in the region had only recently switched to the Flyte family, who promptly changed the former policy of tolerance and cooperation to one of near despotism. Lord Auberon Flyte quickly gained a reputation for his total lack of compassion in public life, as well as a policy of fighting influences from Daggerfall.

However, not even Lord Flyte anticipated the tumultuous events that accompanied the Miracle of Peace. The Numidium's reactivation frightened Lord Flyte into trying to settle with his neighbors to the west, but his hopes were in vain. Daggerfall marched directly into the country, gutting it in vengeance, and annexed what was left. The Flyte family was left with the position of governors and a deep thirst for vengeance.

Daggerfall had left Anticlere alone afterwards, only really paying attention to the tribute they collected. During those years, Lord Auberon focused all his time into raising his heirs, especially his sharp daughter Lynette, to carry on his family's legacy and achieve the revenge he wanted so badly. Also out of the ordinary are his frequent talks with ambassadors from Sentinel, a nation historically disfavored by Anticlere.

Even now, Lord Flyte spends his days plotting in his still ruined nation of Anticlere, his only focus being the destruction of Daggerfall. His obsession with revenge and the mysterious disappearance of his first child, Nanette, have had many theorizing that he had been pushed into insanity. Lynette Flyte knows better. Her father was very much sane. In fact, she was given a mission by Lord Flyte himself to enter the Imperial City and make sure one very old enemy could be taken care of…

* * *

In the mountainous borders of Morrowind, several checkpoints had been constructed on the few trails one could safely take to enter Cyrodiil. The checkpoint wasn't much- just a jerry-rigged hut with a couple of border guards, but it was important in making sure that Morrowind's newfound independence could be preserved. Of course, that's what the higher-ups just told the border guards to keep them happy. The reality of it was that they had long hours with nothing interesting to do, and with only several jugs of greef keeping them away from desertion.

However, the guard's perpetual tedium was broken when a carriage broke through the morning fog, seemingly en route to Cyrodiil. One of the guards, a young Dunmer, jumped in the air at the sight, which caused his breakfast to fall onto the ground. He jogged over to the road and waved his arms in the air to gain the carriage's attention, which came to a slow halt.

The carriage itself wasn't overly extravagant, probably belonging to a rich merchant or one of the less important members of a great house. It was, however, drawn by horses, which was rather rare in Morrowind. The guard walked to the door of the carriage and opened it up. Inside there were six people, all looking at him. The man in the center seemed to be the leader of them, a serious Dunmer with a face that struck the guard as familiar. "Name and licenses," the guard demanded, unaware of how timid his own voice sounded. He didn't like to be outnumbered.

"Dondos Uvveran, Great House Redoran," the man said confidently, handing the guard an already prepared stack of papers.

The guard didn't bother reading them and looked about the inside of the carriage, "I see. And who're you traveling with?"

"My wife, Anansu and my mother, Llavan," Uvveran said, gesturing to two women, young and old respectively, at his sides, "The two Imperials and the Redguard are mercenaries in my employ. You can never be to careful, especially as of late."

The guard looked at the men across from Uvveran. They were well equipped and looked more than capable for dealing with bandits. The Redguard in particular said nothing, but it felt as though he was exerting some sort of pressure of his own. The border guard felt more and more like he wasn't dealing with a normal group. But then again, normal people weren't trying to leave the region nowadays. "So, erm, what business do you have in Cyrodiil? You're certainly not trying to… Defect, are you?"

Uvveran scowled at the words. He moved his hand, and on his finger became visible a stunningly beautiful ring. "Of course not. My son lives in Cheydinhal, you see. When the Tribunal took over, he decided he wanted to stay in the Imperial Province. I've sent him letters, but there has been no reply. I'm going there to convince him myself to come home."

"O-oh, I see," said the guard, breaking under the Redguard's gaze, "Well, that is certainly… Very understandable, yes… And everything seems to be in order. Well, I wish you a happy and, um, speedy trip," the guard stammered, and closed the door.

Within a second of the door's closing, the carriage sped off across the border, apparently to Cheydinhal. He had been unsettled for reasons he did not know, as the carriage seemed harmless enough. Unfortunately, this incident would have given him reason to worry if he actually realized who had had just let cross the border. Yet this incredibly historical event passed, like so many of its kind, without any fanfare. Well, other than a young Dunmeri guard gulping down mazte to calm his nerves.

* * *

_Dearest Father,_

_I am happy to tell you that my time in the Imperial City has been most agreeable. Know that grandfather's stories, which seemed so unbelievable when he told them, actually underestimate the grandeur and beauty that I have found here. What is more, even the most humble of public squares dwarf our prides back home, although I must say that there is a dearth of fountains. The beauty leaves me breathless. General things seem so much greater here than back at home. Wants never go unfulfilled._

_He, and by he I mean the estimable Ra'Karth-Dro, has kept me company. Did you tell him much about me before I came? Receive information- that has to be what he did, as he knew all about me. The stories he told me of you were most entertaining. Recommendations he gave me for living in this city were so helpful! For whatever could I do without them? Emperor Way also still has that plaque you mentioned._

_They are so kind here, the people I mean. Are you aware of how mean people live here and how skilled they are? Reading, writing, poetry- all sorts of arts are practiced here! My heart soars to be among such people. Letters are also sent in great numbers, you know, which was also a pleasant surprise. _

_I know that you must miss me as much as I miss you. Have faith, though, as I won't be gone for too long. Created memories here make this heartache for my family worthwhile. Information about what is happening back home is hard to find though. Networks- heavens, they never get information from Anticlere._

_They have said though, that fall is coming early. Do you know if that is true? Not that it is of grave importance. Know that I miss you and mother, and especially little Shirley. We are still a family, where we may be. Are all the servants well? Aware of their break that is coming?_

_Please respond at your earliest convenience._

_I remain your most humble and obedient daughter,_

_Lynette_

Hieronymus Lex had found, in the recent days, that he had more and more time off duty. It was all Civello's doing. Lex could imagine the commander chuckling, his numerous chins looking as though they were dancing about. "Come now, my dear Hieronymus!" he remembered Civello call out, "We can't have you patrolling! Image is what matters! Let people see you, talk to you! Think like a politician!"

Of course, of the many things Lex thought as, from imperial citizen to guardsman to the arch-nemesis to the Gray Fox, none really helped him think politically. And so, after being discovered and told off by Civello for patrolling during his time off, Lex decided to have lunch at Luther Broad's Boarding House. He wasn't happy. He jittered his leg up and down with an irritable expression on his face. He could've sworn he had seen a thief outside. Yet his orders were to not patrol, and Lex always followed orders.

Also seated at his table was Kirania. She looked bored. Having tried to strike up conversation with Lex no less than four times during this lunch alone, she realized she wasn't going to get much information out of him. Sometimes she became suspicious that he was on to her, but experience taught her that Lex was like this to everyone. If someone shoplifted a single loaf of bread, rest assured that Hieronymus Lex would go to any length to bring justice to the accused. She found the whole ordeal to be one of the more tedious exercises of her life.

Despite her reservations about speaking to the captain she tentatively looked up. "Captain?" she asked.

Lex made an acknowledging grunt, looking at the door. Kirania did her best not to frown. Even her thieve friends did better than grunts. "Sir, I was wondering if I could use a couple days of my leave soon?"

Lex didn't realize she had spoken until a few seconds later. He tossed a glance in her direction. "Come again?"

The Bosmer stifled a sigh. "My leave, captain. I've got some family coming up from Valenwood, and I would like to spend the day with them, if possible."

"What? Oh. Family. Very well, no problems that I can see," Lex said, turning his attention back to the door.

Kirania smiled. That had been easier than she had expected. Her smile proved to be short lived, however, as she really had nothing to do until Lex decided to go outside. And Lex wasn't going to go outside until Guilliam returned. And gods knew when Guilliam would return.

After ten more minutes of drudgery the door to the boarding house burst open. Standing in the threshold was Guilliam, his face bright an excited. "I've got it!" he cried out, waving a sheet of parchment.

Lex was about to tell Guilliam off for unprofessional noisemaking, but realized what the young Breton held in his hand. "It's a Courier extra! They've got the list of candidates for emperor!"

Suddenly everyone in the room besides Lex became very interested. People started asking all sorts of questions at once, but Guilliam waved them away while walking over to Lex and Kirania, "Hey, make way, make way! Out of the way, you! Listen, I'll read it to everyone. But just give me a second to get to my- watch that elbow, citizen!- to get to my table!"

Guilliam made his way to Lex's table. Kirania had her chin up high, trying to steal a glance of the parchment, while Lex seemed thoroughly uninterested. The youngest guardsman pulled out his chair and stood up upon it. "Alright, alright! Settle down. He here it is. 'Extra edition! List of candidates finalized! Just yesterday the Elder Council received a list of candidates for the vacant post of emperor…', blah blah, a bunch of talk about the history of this whole mess… Okay, here we go! The list! First up, the Imperial College of Battlemages recommends Hamilcar Attucks."

There was some mumbling from the crowd. Obviously Attucks wasn't a household name. "Alright, other, others… The Mage's Guild recommends Raminus Polus. Polus? Who's he?"

Lex rolled his eyes. Guilliam's antics were brazenly unprofessional. He would have to have a talk with the youth about controlling himself. But even if Lex didn't care about names, he couldn't keep the noise from his ears. "King Helseth of Morrowind recommends… Prince Goranthir of Firsthold."

Kirania snorted, as did much of the crowd. 'His nephew. Leave it to that man,' she thought to herself, 'to keep power in the family.' Lex, of course, looked as if they were discussing something mundane as the weather.

"The King of Torval, the esteemed Ra'Karth-Dro recommends… Himself," Guilliam said, slightly taken back by the arrogance.

More people mumbled. Not many people cared, however. Ra'Karth-Dro was an Imperial puppet, not the Mane. There wasn't much chance that he would even become a serious contender.

"The East Empire Company recommends General Erasmus Servius of the XIIth Legion."

Lex's eyes narrowed. Another image of Civello flashed into his mind. The old man's face, both silly but knowing, saying "But I daresay you've already met your greatest rival."

Guilliam named off more names. Some were familiar, others not. Each name elicited some sort of response from the crowd. Midway through the list of names the Breton started to realize how he had captured the crowd's attention and started to annunciate his words. Lex had the distinct feeling that he had somehow missed his true calling as an actor. Yet eventually Guilliam's newfound bravado was cut short as he read one final name on the list. "… Legionary Commander Giovanni Civello recommends… Guard Cap'n… Hieronymus Lex…?"

The entire crowd suddenly turned their attention the Lex. He felt the pressure of all their eyes, and the discomfort of their silence. Guilliam looked confused, Kirania shocked. Even Luther Broad had stopped buffing one of his glasses and was gaping at Lex. Although the captain had never really been a master of public relations, even he realized that this moment probably warranted some sort of response. After tapping his inner reserves of cunning and guile he managed, "Well, I really should go out and patrol…" as he slowly rose from his seat.

Lex had hoped that the civilians would naturally know their place and let him out into the fresh air. He miscalculated. Every patron of the Boarding House broke out into question at once, making a total lack of sense. Lex elbowed his way through the crowd with frustration, not heeding the cries of "Captain!" and "Cap'n!" behind him. His years of near-military training paid off as he broke through the mass of people and exited the boarding house. Yet when he had entered the Elven Gardens proper, he realized that the dozens of people loitering the streets all held the extra copies of the courier. Once again the eyes bore onto him. The normally composed captain allowed himself a sigh. "Good Gods!" he declared in frustration, "This is going to be a long day!"

And then they were upon him.

* * *

Archcanon Tholer Saryoni walked into the Temple of Mournhold with his head held high. It was one week ago when a temple courier entered his small shack in the wild north of Vvardenfel with a letter from the High Fane, claiming that his presence was required in Mournhold immediately. And so the retired holy man made his long trip from Sheogorad to Almalexia and to the one district the Tribunal still held. His arrival had been pre-empted.

The room he was in had been specially prepared. Besides the High Ordinators who stood near the walls, there were only two people who sat side by side at a table, which was the only piece of furniture in the room. The first was old Fedris Hler, the personal steward to Almalexia, and the de facto ruler of independent Morrowind. His face was riddled with scars from his days as a soldier, but his one good eye betrayed more cunning than a fox's. His face carried a slight smile. Next to him was Barel Sala, the leader of the independent Morrowind's army. He was dressed in his ornate Indoril armor and had a severe look on his young features. Saryoni had worked with Sala extensively while they were in Vivec together. Sala was undeniably dedicated to his work, but carried such focus on his goals it was easy for him to keep his mind closed.

Hler smiled. "Ah, Tholer, my old friend. Please, sit down…" he said, gesturing to a seat across from himself.

Saryoni eased himself into the chair and looked across at Hler. The ex-ordinator revealed a bottle he was carrying. "Flin?"

"Yes, thank you," Saryoni said, watching Hler fill his cup.

Hler finished pouring the drink and then looked back to Saryoni. "I trust that you've had a pleasant trip here?"

Saryoni shook his head, "Actually no, I haven't," he replied glancing at Sala out of the corner of his eye. The ordinator hadn't changed his expression at all.

"What a pity," Hler muttered, "But I suppose that life can't always be sunshine, now can it?"

A pause indicated that Saryoni wasn't going to respond. Hler stiffened his posture slightly. "Well now, Tholer, I suppose you're wondering why we called out here."

"As a matter of fact I am. I'm retired; you know that. I also didn't receive the faintest idea of what you wanted from the message I had received."

"Well, I'm sure you know that I couldn't very well provide all the details to the messenger. Vaardenfel is dangerous in general, and the far north is even worse. What I'm asking you is very important. Something that has to be said… Face to face."

Saryoni narrowed his eyes. Hler wasn't normally known for subtlety or extended pleasantries. Hler cleared his throat. "Now that Morrowind, or at least most of it, is back under rightful Tribunal rule, we need to start considering how to govern it. We're in a bold new era. No Empire lords over us, for the first time in over three centuries. Hardly anyone remembers what it was like, the old days."

"Somehow," Saryoni interjected, "I don't believe that you have much difficulty learning how to rule."

Hler's face contorted at the insult. "Tholer, don't get me wrong. I'm not ruling. The Tribunal rule. I'm just an artery of communication, nothing more. That's one of the reasons I've asked you here," he began, settling himself, "You see, Tholer, the Tribunal can't be bothered with everyday matters. While of course they rule us and advise us, the mundaneness of national upkeep should be spared from them. Barel and I have decided to make a group of three to help the Tribunal rule-"

"A new Tribunal?" Saryoni said, more of an action of indignation than a question.

"No, of course not," Hler said, his face starting to redden in frustration, "I'd never do such a heresy as to insist that. What I propose is a triumvirate of Sala, you, and myself. The three of us can handle affairs that the Three deem to be of our importance. You presence would be very helpful."

Saryoni didn't respond, instead he looked about the room. Hler waited for a solid minute before saying, "Well, what say you?"

Once again, there was no response. Saryoni's eyes drifted to Sala, whose expression still hadn't changed since the beginning of the meeting. His eyes were so cold, so battle hardened. They had changed since the two had met last, when Sala left Vivec to lead his people. Beside the ordinator, Hler was growing visibly more frustrated. "Tholer? Do you need some time to think about this?"

"… There was much devastation, Fedris," said Saryoni after a moment, "The midlands are desolate now. They say fires still burn in Oldrenthis."

"No one said the war would be easy, Saryoni," Hler said, now scowling, "That's why we need someone like you in the triumvirate."

"Please understand, Archcanon," Sala began in a polite tone, "This conflict is proving to be longer than we first expected. And certain factors, like Barenziahs' flight and our inability to take the rest of Mournhold, have further affected moral. What the people need is a figure that they can trust and love in. Archcanon, you've captured the people's hearts with your sermons. They need you to encourage them once more."

"Yes," Hler broke in, "You see, Saryoni? We need you. How long've we know each other. Surely you can help me- hell, help Morrowind, by agreeing to appease the people."

"I understand now, Fedris. I understand quite a bit," Saryoni said with a tired sigh, "There's no need to hide it. You've been corrupted by power."

"What?!" Hler snapped back.

"Listen, old friend. We indeed have known each other for a long time. And the Fedris I knew would never prolong a war that was slaughtering his own people so he could keep his own personal power. I had heard rumors that you had changed as ruler, but I always assumed them to be hearsay. But I fear that you've indeed tasted a little too much power."

Hler stood up, his normal composure falling apart at his college's criticism. "Listen, Saryoni, I am the steward of Almalexia. I don't need to take this from you. But I am because the people need you. This isn't about me. Think of the people!"

"If you truly cared about the people you would follow Lord Vivec's example and make peace with the Empire rather than fight a pointless war."

"Listen to yourself!" Hler all but spat, "You speak of suing for peace with the n'wah!? After centuries of exploitation and colonialism, you lack the spark of Dunmeri pride to stand up for your nation? Your people? You say I've changed, Saryoni, but the Tholder I knew would've tried his hardest to make this dream of Dunmer independence, which we've harbored for decades, a reality!"

"What is the point of independence if it's created with a foundation of innocent corpses. Children and widows have died, Hler, in large numbers. And we've still no advantage in this war. It is time to put aside jingoism and rebuild. Almalexia is in ruins, old friend. Even if we somehow win, it'll be a hollow victory."

"How can you say that!? How can you… Can you throw aside what we've all wanted for so long? Just because the last month has been long and bloody doesn't mean we should just roll up on our bellies and admit defeat. Not when the Empire, at its weakest state in its entire history, gives us an opportunity like this!"

"You can justify this carnage however you see fit, Fedris, but I'll never support your regime, let alone serve on it," Saryoni said slowly, with both sorrow and finality.

Hler's features were warped with rage. "This war has the full backing of the Tribunal-"

"The Tribunal are **dead!**" Saryoni yelled, losing his own composure for the first time.

It was if an explosion had gone off in the room. Sala, who had remained stoic throughout the ex-friend's argument, changed, his eyes were wide and his mouth open slightly. Hler's face showed that he believed that Saryoni had just committed the greatest of heresies, as if the Archcanon had trespassed over some sacred, inflexible boundary. At first he was at a lack of words. "I… You… The Tribunal, they live!" he insisted at last, as if it could be true only if he spoke the words.

Saryoni stood with a form of pity etched into his old, tired face. "We all know the truth about what happened in the Clockwork City. We all know why Almalexia hasn't contacted anyone since the Nerevarine entered her chambers so long ago. As for Lord Vivec… He is gone, and I know he will not return. I have no proof but… I know," he said softly, taking a deep breath in, "Fedris, it is bad enough that we have lied to our people for so long. It is a sin that we haven't revealed the truth to them, something they had every right to know. It's partially my fault. I couldn't let the people, so dispirited over the Oblivion Crisis, know that their living gods were dead. I assumed you harbored the same feelings. But now I know why you remained silent. If the people knew that the Tribunal had died, you would have little power, and even less authority. I never dreamed, old friend, that you could've become so selfish.

"I'm going to leave now. I'll not join your triumvirate. I won't even give it my blessing. I would pray for you, Fedris, but I've not a god to pray to anymore. And to you, Barel Sala," he said, glancing to his former underling, "You're a devout, noble soul. Obviously you can see the foolishness and destruction this war has wrought. I implore you- end this war. Make a stand for the right cause, Sala. Protect your people, and not become involved with Fedris' scheme to replace the Tribunal… Now… Good evening, gentlemen…"

And with that, Tholer Saryoni left.

* * *

In the dark, dank depths of Fort Nikel, Erasmus Servius was plotting. No doubt had the people received word that he was running for emperor now. This gave him a small sense of relief- the first phase of his plan had been completed. Of course, this small success didn't lure him into any feeling of security. When one lived on the border of Murkwood, the second they felt secure was when they died. Servius learned that as soon as he was posted there. The average life expectancy of a non-Argonian in the XIIth was two months. He had lived there for over two decades.

Living in such an area, where even breathing at the wrong time can prove fatal, only the most crafty, intelligent, and ruthless can survive. Had Servius been a lesser man he would've been like the dozens of other men he saw join the legion, only to be done in by a poisonous gas or what the Argonians called haash kalth, a mud much like quicksand. But Servius was no such lesser man. He had lived.

While Servius pondered on his candidacy, he noticed his aid entering the room. She was also an Imperial, and also bore the scars of service in Argonia like her superior. Perhaps pretty once, she was now fully a soldier, with any concern about her appearance having died years in the past. Such fickle matters had to be cast aside to survive in the XIIth. "General," she began, "We've received our new weapons. They were in pristine condition, as we were promised."

"Excellent," Servius said with a ghost of a smile, "Give the good smith a generous tip, shall you?"

"Of course, general," she said, "Do you wish for the XIIth to mobilize?"

Servius looked across his desk at the empty pedestal that sat there longingly. "… No," he said at last, "We still need the armor. Why hasn't the light armor arrived yet?"

"Sir, the merchant still has one day to supply the gear, as to our agreement. I'm sure he'll come through. All the adventurers in the city swear by him, apparently."

"There is a large difference between adventurers and ourselves… Regardless, I'll stand by your opinion. We stay at camp for now. Dismissed," he said, turning his attention back to the empty ebony stand on his desk.

The aide, however, did not leave. Servius noticed this and repeated his order, "Dismissed," with more emphasis.

"Sir…" she began, "Our agents inside the city have already heard rumors."

Servius' deeply scarred face darkened even more, if possible. "What?" he said slowly.

"Rumors about you," she said in a matter of fact tone, "All of which both slanderous and very… unflattering. I thought that you would like to know."

"Flyte…" Servius muttered, his one gray eye smoldering, "I should've known. They've ruined everything else in my life. They couldn't possibly pass up this opportunity to ruin something else," he thought aloud.

"Do you want me to send someone to… Deal with the Flyte?"

"No," Servius said at once, "This task requires a bit of delicacy, something that our legion sadly lacks. Yes, I will handle this situation personally. Fetch me my traveling cloak. I'm going into town," he said, rising from his seat.

The aide saluted and left his chambers. Servius walked to one wall of his room, on which there was a fine oil painting. Oddly, even in the humid depths of the fort, the painting was still in perfect condition. It was a portrait of an old, austere looking man, whose eyes seemed just as merciless as Servius'. A small brass placard under the tyrant's portrait read 'Lord Auberon Flyte'. Servius put his hand up to the portrait, and allowed a small fireball to be conjured. He held it perilously close to the painting and narrowed his eye. "Auberon…" he muttered, "Just you wait…"

Servius clenched his fist and he fireball vanished. The general then turned and left his office. He knew the task before him. Indeed, before he could deal with the elder Flyte, he needed to handle the daughter…


	12. Civello, the Lady, and the Devil

"So what I did was apologize to the guard and put on my most pathetic face, you know that sort of nonsense. So of course the old fool forgives me, and gave me a stern wag of the finger and all the stuff they normally do. And then, this is the best part, when he turned his back on me I filched his key, right out of his pocket. The idiot didn't even feel it."

"Really? Ah, Carwen, you really are improving! And to think that you could hardly pass Christophe's exam last year."

"To be fair, Meth, you failed your test the first time around."

"Well, to be fair, I was up against one of the future best thieves in the guild."

Methredrel and Carwen were enjoying a light lunch on the Bloated Float, catching up on old times. The restaurant was empty, for the most part, but that wasn't the only reason they spoke freely. The proprietor had a personal debt to Armand Christophe, and that made the tavern ship one of the very few locations Thieves' Guild operatives could truly let their guards down. The owner, a frustrated looking altmer, seemed to accept the fact that thieves infested his restaurant, but by no means enjoyed it. The two also broke into fits of laughter at frequent intervals, which wasn't helping his pounding headache. One of these days he was going to have to have a little talk with Christophe.

"Oh, Carwen, it seems you've gotten a whole lot of excitement lately. What I wouldn't give to back on the streets, back to where we dreamed of being."

"Oh, c'mon, Meth. You should be honored. Tailing Lex has become one of the most important jobs that the Guild has. I betcha that if you get some good info you're assured a promotion. If anything, I wish I was you."

Methredrel rolled her eyes. "No, you don't, trust me. I'm not even sure if a promotion is worth being Kirania, day and night. The drills, the watches, the patrols- you know, I think I'm starting to realize why the guards are so grumpy all the time. Life in the barracks is no picnic. Captain Lex made us run sprints yesterday, and I swear it felt like my heart was going to explode when it was all over."

"'Captain' Lex?" Carwen said with a mocking grin on her face.

Methredrel scowled. "Hey, come on now. I'm so used to playing the role of the little guardswoman it's starting to get burned into my head. I really need a vacation," she sighed and tipped her chair back, looking up at the ceiling. "You know, somehow, this really wasn't what I expected working in the Thieves' Guild would be like…"

Carwen shrugged and took a drink from her glass. "Well, we were young when we first thought about joining, Meth. Young and romantic. We're still young, you know? It's kind of odd to hear you of all people sounding disillusioned."

"I guess…" Methredrel muttered, sipping her own drink.

They were quiet for a few moments before Carwen coughed slightly. "Well, just take heart. The job can't take too long, can it? And when you've got it done, I bet you'll have a fat bonus and a new rank. Trust me, six months from now we'll be sitting here laughing over the situation with drinks, right?"

Methredrel sighed. "I guess. In six months."

"Oh, perk up!" Carwen said with an irritated frown, "It's not becoming to be mopey like that. Lemme pay the barkeep…"

"Nah, you don't have to. It's on me. I've got a big bonus on the way, remember?" Methredrel said with a sly smile.

Carwen cracked a smile as well, "That's the spirit. Well, I'll catch you later, and hopefully you won't catch me!" she said, walking to the door.

"Hope you rot, criminal scum!" Methredrel joked as her old friend left.

When Carwen had left Methredrel's mood dropped a few pegs. She wasn't especially happy, even more so with the prospect of several more long weeks with Hieronymus Lex. As she drummed her fingers waiting for the owner to collect her money, she couldn't help but feel a prang of longing to be on the streets. Was this really helping the poor? Was this really going to help her career? She sighed again, consigning her fate to what the doyens had deemed to be her task, and hoping desperately that Lex would somehow stop being an ass. Of course, she knew those hopes were in vain. She stood, stretched, and left.

* * *

Brisk twilight had descended upon the Nibenay. The sun was setting, illuminating the lake just a few feet from the road and, even more, the glorious city that sat in the middle. Her sturdy battlements and pinnacle towers shimmered like jewels in a crown. Maro Rufus watched the city in one of his quieter moments. When one lived there they became so wrapped up in the mundaneness of everyday life that they couldn't appreciate the pearly walls or White Gold Tower. Maro had to admit that he, to, forgot how his breath was taken away the first time he saw it.

He sat on the driver's seat of a large cart. The cart itself was old, and didn't seem like it should be holding together nearly as well as it actually was. It was being pulled by a pair of old mules, and the back of it was stacked high with crates. It bumped across the dirt trail slowly, but Maro didn't mind. He enjoyed the momentary relief with dragonflies as his company, and the singing of crickets opposed to Varnado's nagging. Honesty, he liked the man and all, but all he does is nag about work.

These stretches of roads used to be dangerous, with highwaymen and mountain lions a constant threat on merchants and travelers. But they were gone now. Although Maro was unaware of it, it was because this land was the XIIth's territory now. The XIIth were not like the occasionally effective legionary foresters- criminals and beasts in their territory were dealt with under extreme prejudice. But Maro didn't know about the crackdown, nor did he really care. His only concern were the big profits he was about to reap.

As he neared Fort Nikel, however, he could no longer say that he was totally blithe. The closer he got to the bastion the road had become odder and odder. First was a lack of wildlife, even the insects. It steadily became worse, with small piles of bones on either side of the road, and little totems set up on both sides of the path. Maro frowned, more out of curiosity than fear, and whipped his mules on, who had become oddly unresponsive and hesitant as they grew closer to their destination.

It was night by the time he reached the fort. The faces on totems had eyes that glowed from the blackness, and other than that the only light was provided by mushrooms that were not indigenous. He reached the fort, where he saw a solitary figure standing in front of it. He hopped off the cart and walked to the person. "Hello? Legionnaire? This is Fork Nikel, right…?"

The figure turned, and her face made Maro gasp. She was a frightening woman, not quite as scarred as her general, but possessed the same imposing presence as the Man from Argonia. She narrowed his eyes, and Maro felt like a bolt had pierced his heart. "You are Maro Rufus, the armorsmith?"

Maro's throat was slightly dry. "Well, I don't smith as much as I used to. But I manage the store and all…"

She didn't look amused. "I take it you have the armor," she said, not wasting any time.

"O-of course I do," Maro said, "It's in the cart…" he mumbled, pointing behind him.

The woman snapped her fingers. At once several argonians materialized from the shadows and descended upon the cart, quickly lifting away the crates. The work was totally silent, as if the lizard men were shades. Another person, this one an Imperial, walked out of the inky blackness and to the crates. He noisily broke one open and took out a cuirass. He carefully examined the armor, and Maro couldn't help but feel a little nervous. AT last, he declared, "This is… Very fine. Very fine indeed."

Maro felt suddenly relived for some reason he couldn't determine. He gave a small smile to the female soldier, but she didn't return the warmness. His smile slipped off his face and he quickly looked at the ground. No one spoke for a few moments. The woman didn't take her eyes off Maro, and eventually said "Well?"

Maro felt as though he was being accused by an inquisitor. "Excuse me, ma'am, but my payment…?" he mumbled, as though he were asking for something that was horrendously greedy and out of the question.

"General isn't here," she said coldly, "No one gets any money without General's approval."

Maro wasn't sure what to do. "Umm…" he mumbled, "So, what do I…?"

The woman sighed. She snapped her fingers again, which caused the man who inspected the armor to walk up to him. He handed Maro a small piece of paper, which caused Maro to look up at the woman. "It's a voucher. For your money. Take that piece of paper and bring it back when General is here. Then you'll get your precious money," she said, nearly ending with a hiss.

"Righto," chirped Maro nervously, "I'll be going now…"

Maro climbed back onto his cart with a hop. Without looking back he whipped the reigns of the mules, which eagerly began to put distance between Fort Nikel and himself. He supposed all the members of that legion liked to be scary. He didn't understand why. It seemed so counterproductive to be all vicious and frightening. Maro shrugged. As he passed the last runic totem a small dragonfly hovered over to him and landed upon the merchant's finger. He looked up at the stars and turned his mind to the lovely apple of his eye, Lynette Flyte…

* * *

In the Tibur Septum Hotel, the object of Maro's affections sat idly combing her hair. Lynette Flyte watched herself in her beautiful vanity, making sure that her hair looked perfect. Her father had always insisted that she looked as pleasing as possible before going outside, after all (She, of course, chose not to remember he insisted that because he said that she wasn't nearly as pretty as her sister). She was in her underwear, which for a lady consisted of many layers of various fabrics, meaning that she was still wearing much more than the average peasant woman. Her guards were naturally not present. Heaven forbid they see her in her undergarments, even if she could survive a blizzard in them. No, she was alone, for once, and decided to spend her time doing what she normally did in her free hours- scheme dastardly plans.

Her face, so carefully made up, had a dark and cunning grim cross over it. Her hairbrush started to increase in speed until she heard a knock on the door. Her smirk vanished, as she realized that she had a guest, and it could be only one person. "Oh, your honor," she called to the door, "I'm very glad to hear you! Please, give me a moment!"

But instead of giving her a moment, the guest knocked again, more than once, with more urgency. Flyte clicked her tongue in annoyance, but forced a pleasant tone of voice, "Please, sir, if you could only wait a few moments…"

There was no such luck. The door was rapped on again, with even more haste, as if the person on the other side had no time to wait. Flyte mumbled in annoyance before standing. "Oh, fine! But really, Ra'Karth-Dro, you normally show a little more patience than this!" she said, opening the door to peek through the crack, but her eyes closed in frustration, "Now what could be so important as to disturb me-"

When her eyes looked through the crack she saw that man on the other side was not the Khajiit king, as she had thought, but instead found herself in front of the cold, gray eye of Erasmus Servius. "Lady Flyte," he said with a poisonous smile, "A pleasure, to be sure."

Flyte was first at a lack of words. Her brain struggled for a moment, trying to piece together a scenario in which Servius would come all the way to her hotel room. "S-Servius?" she spat, still surprised.

"Propriety would have you address me as 'General'," Servius said, opening the door wider, "Unless, of course, we are on different terms than I am aware of…"

Flyte's features flashed with a mixture of annoyance and fear. "Not now, General," she muttered, trying to close the door, "I've got things to do…"

But before she could get the door closed Servius put his ironclad boot between the door and the frame, blocking it from fully closing, "Oh, my lady, this shouldn't take long," he said, easily overpowering Flyte's small frame and barging into her room.

The lady felt the sides of her mouth twitch involuntarily. She took a step backwards and looked at the general. He stood donned in his armor, with a short sword at his hip and venom in his smile. Flyte was having a great amount of difficulty covering her dislike of the man, something she had accomplished easily enough during their earlier meetings. Her eyes darted to the door, wondering why her guards hadn't intercepted the solider. As if he had read her thoughts, Servius opened his mouth. "If you're looking for your guards, I'm afraid that they're quite preoccupied at the moment," he said conversationally, "But I'm sure they would've let me in. I am a general of the empire, and I surely could never raise my fist at you."

Flyte's eyes darted from Servius, to the door, to herself. "… I'm not fully dressed," she managed, her eyes fuming in anger.

The soldier laughed. "Oh, no matter. But if you're so self conscious," he said, his tone somehow accusing, "I'll just skip the pleasantries befitting a woman of your station and get directly to the point."

He walked to one corner of the room where he eyed a bottle of wine, his boots making a tak noise as he crossed the chamber. Without as much as looking at Lynette Flyte he popped the cork and poured himself a glass. "I have heard rumors are floating about," he said, almost musing, "… Concerning me," Servius said, shooting his eye over to Flyte.

The lady didn't say anything for a few tense moments. "… Well, general," she began as diplomatically as she could, "I'm afraid to say the rumors are natural and inevitable concerning a man in a position like one you are in."

"Of course. Please, Lady Flyte, I of course considered that possibility, yet isn't it still odd? How long has my candidacy been public? And how many other candidates have such dark rumors floating about them?" he said slowly, deliberately, while taking a few steps towards Flyte, "And the most concerning thing of all is how totally and utterly false these rumors are. They are lies of the foulest sort. That is also curious, as most rumors have a nugget of truth somewhere."

Lady Flyte took a step backwards, despite herself. "Well, general, I am very sorry for your predicament, however, I must say that I've not a single thing to-"

Servius waved his hand. The dark smile was still upon his lips, but his eye was as frigid as steel. As he took some steps closer he walked into the dimmer light of the room, which caught on his ragged features, distorting them. The shadows in his deep scars made him seem like some sort of terrible creature of the night. He slowly drew his shortsword with a terrible clang, earning a squeak of fear from Flyte. "My lady, do you see this sword?" he said, his voice mocking, but starting to cool "Look at the keenness of the blade… I need to sharpen it for hours to get this effect, but it is time well spent. In it's current condition… It could cut cleanly through glass," the voice now as frigid as his eye.

Lynette Flyte wasn't sure if she should look more insulted or terrified, and couldn't think of a single thing to say. She opened her mount tentatively, but it was too late. Servius had sheathed the sword, his icy smile back on his lips. "I just thought you would like to know. Don't you find the craftsmanship most admirable?"

Flyte said nothing. Her heart was beating quickly, despite everything she was trying to do to calm herself. Servius walked back to the other corner of the room and poured himself another glass of wine. "Now, Lady Flyte, I'm sure that we've had differing views in the past, but isn't it time to put those aside? I mean, after all, we're both looking for the same thing, ultimately, correct? The ruin of Daggerfall?" he said, almost innocently.

'The snake!' Flyte thought furiously, 'He HAS intercepted my mail! But has he managed to decode it…?'

"I shall take your silence as a 'yes'. And if we are indeed both striving for the collapse of Daggerfall, the rise of Sentinel, and an independent Reich Gradkeep-"

"Anticlere," Lady Flyte insisted.

Servius' mouth turned up in a sneer, "Of course. Regardless of the name, we all want the same thing. So, Lady Flyte, I am going to offer you a once-in-an-era proposition," he began, his voice taking a diplomatic quality of it's own, "Quit your hopeless tarnishing of my name and join my struggle. Together, we can easily outmaneuver Helseth, and certainly that fool, Civello. In exchange, I can assure not only the safety of… 'Anticlere', but further rewards during my reign. I'd offer you time to think, but this is really an obvious choice, Lynette. You already know the right answer."

For being at a lack of words for nearly all of Servius' visit, Lady Flyte finally discovered some store of internal resolve. Her eyes shimmered with determination. "Pretty words, Servius, but I would never join you. Ever."

The cordiality in Servius' face melted like snow. "I grant you all that, and still you defy me? I offered to see through the crimes of your father, and you repay me with a refusal. You're a stubborn fool, just like that insane father of yours-"

That was apparently not the correct thing to say, as it was greeted with a firm, "Out!"

"Of course, my lady," Servius said, letting his mocking smile return to his face, "But do not think for a second that my refused generosity will go-"

"OUT!"

The general decided not to press the point. He gave the lady an elegant bow and left the room, his boots taking behind him. Flyte walked to a chair and collapsed into it. She hadn't made the wisest choice, but it was too late for regrets. As her breathing steadied, she realized what she had to do. She shuffled over to her desk, grabbed a sheet of parchment and a quill, and started writing a letter for her father.

* * *

Methredrel entered the small garden silently. She had been here before. This is where her story had begun, after all. She had just entered the city after her long trek from Valenwood. Tired and penniless, she had spent a couple weeks drifting aimlessly until she received the letter from Carwen, telling her to go to this very garden at midnight. She came and met Armand Christophe, who never really cared for her. All luck and no skill, that's what he said. Maybe he was right. She did fail her first exam, after all. It was a miracle that she was in the Guild in the first place. But she did her best to put these thoughts aside. She had skills that didn't involve stealing, after all, talents which she alone possessed.

She looked about herself, trying to spot Christophe. He was normally here every night, holding his torch. But tonight was different. There was no doyen standing here, as far as she could see. She unconsciously grasped the vial in her pocket. "Useless! Why today of all days," she muttered to herself.

"You are not alone," said a voice from the shadows.

If she was younger and still green, Methredrel would've jumped. But all her months in the company of thieves had taught her to control her surprise. She turned her eyes to the source of the noise and discovered a khaiit who was so adept at sneaking that she seemed to blend into the wall. She walked from the darkness of the wall into the relative brightness of the moonlight. "This huntress seeks something. What is it?"

Methredrel probed the newcomer suspiciously. She wore the oddest armor, which seemed as if it had been skinned from a bug. But that was absurd. The khajiit wasn't young, and her eyes revealed a great tiredness. "Where's Christophe?" Methredrel asked quickly.

"Christophe?" the Kahjiit hissed, "Christophe is out. Busy. None cares. He left this one in charge of his shift. Anything that he can hear you can tell her," she said, gesturing to herself.

"Then who're you?"

"This one is an agent from the east. Acquaintances with Christophe. She knows much about the Guild, but will not waste her breath proving herself. The fact that she knows this garden and Christophe is proof enough. What do you have to say?"

Methredrel frowned. This was a matter that should've been taken directly to Christophe. However, the Khajiit wasn't lying, that much Methredrel was sure of. "I'm Methredrel," the bosmer began.

"The huntress' name is irrelevant," Habasi snapped, "What she has to say is important."

"… Very well," the younger thief said, slightly offended, "I'm an undercover agent, working inside the Imperial Guard. On duty, an ally of mine discovered this in a home in the Elven Gardens…" she muttered, taking the vial from her pocket and handing it over to Habasi, "And I've never seen anything like it. It smells like a drug, thought, so I thought…"

But Methredrel didn't need to elaborate much more, as Habasi's eyes glowed with excitement and snatched the vial from the girl's hands. Within seconds the khajiit was running tests. She swirled it around, smelled it, even put the tiniest of drops on her tongue. After a minute of experimentation, she shot her neck up to look Methredrel in the eyes. "Where did you find this?" she said quickly.

"I-I told you," Methredrel said, not expecting the green liquid to warrant the investigation it had received, "In the Elven Gardens. I'm not sure about the details. It was a younger boy who found it, and I'm not positive-"

"Then what is this foolish girl waiting for!" Habasi interjected, "She must go and find the details! Now! Immediately! When she has them, she will return to this one and tell her all about it."

Methredrel frowned in frustration. "Excuse me? I can't ask for details. If I do, I might get a little suspicion on me. And trust me, I can't let people get-"

"Habasi doesn't care!" the khajiit broke in, too excited by the prospect of a breakthrough to listen to Methredrel's opposition, "This is an order from a doyen! Talk to the boy, discover the details, and return to Habasi as soon as the huntress can. Now go, move! Leave her alone to think…"

Methredrel managed a, "Shadows hide you," before starting off. That had not gone how she had expected it to in any capacity. The feverish khajiit's orders were totally unreasonable, and the bosmer quickly put them from her mind. The old woman was obviously crazy and had no idea what she was talking about. That was probably the reason why the curious khajiit was still muttering to herself. Christophe was getting odder and odder these days, the young thief mused to herself. And if crazy old cat ladies was the start of all this, Methredrel wasn't excited to see what was to come.

* * *

Lex entered Giovanni Civello's office in a foul mood. His day had been a blur of citizens asking questions about his nomination, heckles from thugs on street corners, and no less than six amateur journalists, all hoping to make their big break with an exclusive interview. Lex got through the day with a mixture of extreme irritation of the pestering, and a deep resentment of having to put up with it, as per Civello's orders. He had half a mind to yell at his superior.

He entered, though, not to find Civello seated at a meal, but standing before a new painting at one corner of the room. The old commander didn't seem to notice Lex's arrival, and seemed very engaged looking at the work, with a pensive expression on his face. Lex slowly walked to where Civello stood to see the picture more clearly. It was of an old man, who didn't at all look unlike Civello. He was portly, had thinning hair, and had a look of duty etched into his face. Lex was no art crititic, but the stalwart features of the canvas seemed out of place, and he couldn't pin down why. After a moment, Civello turned to the captain. "Ah, my dear Hieronymus. I didn't see you come in…" he mused, putting his attention back to the painting.

Lex looked at the painting that Civello so admired. "I've not noticed that work before, sir."

"Ah, of course you haven't. I just got it yesterday, you know. Won it at an auction. When I saw it up, I knew I just had to buy it, you understand? It's truly the jewel of my collection," he said with the fondness a parent might use to discuss their child.

Lex glanced about the lavish room, covered in exotic tapestries and expensive furnishings. "… The jewel, you say?"

"Ah, yes. This is a rare painting, you know. The admiral didn't have many pictures painted of himself."

"The admiral?"

Civello turned quickly, as if Lex's entrance had just sunk in, "Oh, perchance you don't know who this is of? Of course not. It's from the Second Era, you know, not something you could tell without an appraiser's eye. This, old boy, is a painting of my direct ancestor, Admiral Richton. He was one of the greatest sailors the Empire ever produced. Richton, the bane of the Redguards! Oh, Hieronymus, what a man!" Civello said, his eyes plastered over the painting in near worship, "This is the man who single handedly defeated the perverse A'Tor in one of the most difficult battles the Empire ever waged. He brought culture, knowledge, and civilization to Hammerfall… From what I've learned, he was much loved by all his subjects, as he was himself a man of courage and integrity. So great, that he spared the life of the traitorous Cyrus, only to be struck down for his… Nobility," he ended, almost in a whisper.

Lex raised an eyebrow at Civello's emotional affair. "… You know, Hieronymus, sometimes I wonder if I can ever equal that sort of man…" he said somberly, and the captain could've sworn he saw some mist in the commander's eyes.

Civello shook his head and composed himself. "But no matter, eh, Hieronymus?" he laughed, running a thumb across his eye, "That's not why you came. Please, sit down, sit down. Cyrodiilic Brandy? I won't take no for an answer, mind you!"

"I'm afraid I must decline, sir."

"Ah, old boy, you've got to learn to relax. Be more… Approachable. You see, the common man loves someone he feels is like him, you know that?" Civello asked, walking to his beautiful table, "And the common man loves a bottle of wine after work. Do you drink much, Hieronymus?"

"Never, sir."

"Ah, you see! The moral high ground is very esteemable, old boy, don't get me wrong. Yet if you truly want to win this struggle, you need to appeal to the common man."

Lex took his seat, "Sir, may I ask you a question?"

"Why, of course, Hieronymus! I'll be happy to answer any query. Ask away!"

"Why do you emphasize my image with the 'common man' if it's the Elder Council that is going to make the ultimate decision of who becomes emperor?"

"Ah, my dear Hieronymus, perhaps you don't truly understand the situation that we have here… Yes, that must be it. Due to your dedication, of course, but to believe that the Elder Council is still in control of affairs is a fundamental misconception… Ask yourself, Hieronymus, why do you think the Elder Council is pressing to have an emperor on the throne by year's end when they themselves are famous for taking a long, long time to make the simplest of decisions?"

"I… Can't say, sir. I don't care for politics-"

"Yes, yes, Hieronymus, I know you don't enjoy politics," Civello said with the faintest hint of irritation, "But right now it is your duty and your orders to understand it. Look, the people love an emperor. An emperor is a bold, decisive figure who reigns with the approval of the gods. But the people do not love the Elder Council. They respect them, that is true, but there is no love. The normal man sees the Council as a group of old mages, totally out of touch with reality. That is why the Council is trying as hard as it can to get an emperor on the throne- because the people demand it. Hieronymus, the emperor can command his people, but the people control the Elder Council. So regardless of what they see as the best decision, they will chose what the mob wishes."

Lex tried to take it in as best he could. His mind really wasn't sculpted for thinking like this, but if it were his orders to do so, he'd damn well try. Civello took no notice that Lex wasn't fully following and continued talking, "My dear Hieronymus, you really need to understand politics to fully appreciate the situation that we're in. For example, the recalls. I signed those orders, you know. Haven't you ever wondered why?"

"It isn't my place to question your commands, sir."

"Yes, it is, Hieronymus!" Civello said, his growing frustration now obvious, almost banging his hand on the table. "If we're going to be successful you need to question every single thing your hear! Question the Elder Council. Question the generals. Question my own motives. You've got to look for the reasons behind people's actions, or we might as well just hand the crown that Helseth or Servius!"

"… I'm sorry sir."

"It's all right, Hieronymus. But without an inquisitive mind on your part, we will be in trouble."

Lex's patience for this whole affair was vanishing rapidly, "Very well, commander. Why did you order the recall?"

Civello's face switched from mild frustration to self-satisfaction at a speed that could only be classified as unsettling. "Oh, my dear Hieronymus, I'm so glad you asked that question. It'll help you understand what you're going to have to deal with soon. Tell me, old boy, what do think caused the revolts in Morrowind?"

"Most people say it's because the legions pulled out-"

"And most people are fools, my dear Hieronymus. But you and I, we're no fools. I looked at the situation in Morrowind when I first took office. Phillida, (rest his soul), thought that the best policy was one of strong legions supporting Helseth's new, strong policies. But Phillida didn't see the big picture. Morrowind is a xenophobic place with a populace that reviles the empire simply because we're in charge. No legions were going to stop that. Indeed, the rebellion was simply inevitable. The Oblivion Crisis exacerbated it, made it come faster, as did Helseth. I remember, despite all the accolades he received when he assumed the throne, one dissenting voice. He said, 'Helseth will either save Morrowind or drive it to ruin.' It looks like he was the correct one, after all."

"Then why did you make a bad situation worse?"

"Come now! Do you really think a handful of legions is what tipped them over the edge? Hardly, old boy. Worse, I suppose, but only a small thing next to the endless decades of hatred… Here's another lesson for you, my dear Hieronymus. Never, ever listen to what the empire is saying," Civello mused, apparently straying from the topic.

"Pardon, sir?"

"One of the oldest pieces of nationalistic garbage you'll hear is the infallibility of the legions. This is something embedded into our national culture, of course. We all take a great deal of pride in our legions, because they remind us of the glory days of Tibur Septum. But the legions are by no means incorruptible. They're ruthlessly efficient, that's for certain. But there are legions that have less loyalty to the crown than they do to their general. They've been stationed in the provinces for centuries, and often relate better to the common people than their shadowy masters back in Cyrodiil. And every one is led by a general who believes he is more competent than the Elder Council. That, old boy, is why I recalled the legions.

"Think, for a moment. What if the legions hadn't been recalled? When the Morrowind armies banded together, what do you think the legions would've done? Undoubtedly some would stay true to their duty, as we've seen in some battles over there. But would others? Would some, knowing that the profits of mercenary work for a desperate Morrowind would dramatically overweigh the stipend that the empire would give them, not turn on their empire? I knew that a rebellion was on the doorstep, and if I didn't do something we could have rogue legions operating with all the discipline of Imperial soldiers in the field, maybe even raiding Cyrodiil herself. No, I couldn't take that risk. So I looked down the list of legions in Morrowind and the Black Marsh and recalled those of which I thought had questionable loyalty. There are also benefits of having them here, old boy," Civello pointed out. "Not only can I keep a very close eye on them, I can use the only one way I know of to totally guarantee their loyalty."

"And what is that, sir?" Lex asked, not so much out of innate curiosity but out of Civello's wishes.

"Each and every one of those legions wants to control the empire. And they all know the others are just as ambitious. So by keeping all the perfidious legions right next to each other, here in Cyrodiil, I've ensured they can do absolutely nothing. The only reason any of them would band together is to take down one they saw as trying to carve out too much power for themselves. In other words, they're paralyzed, as if any one acts, they know the others will instantly, and severely, check their ambition."

"That is… Surprisingly clever, sir," Lex said after a moment.

Civello gave one of his huge, silly grins. "Why, thank you, old boy! It took me some time to come up with. Although don't believe for a second that it's foolproof. Most of the generals are far more adept at war than they are at peace, all save one. Servius. He has more guile about him than the Gray Fox- a figure of speech, old boy," Civello cut in, noting Lex's mouthing opening in complaint, "But the comparison fits. If he ever seems crude, it's because he wants you to think he is. Do not, and I can not stress this enough, ever underestimate him."

"I understand sir."

"Do you really?" Civello asked, once again with a knowing look in his usually silly eyes, "Do you really understand what you're up against? I'm going to be frank, Hieronymus, you have no natural eye for politics. You are going to have to redouble your efforts in understanding the situation of the empire if we are ever going to possibly succeed-"

"If I may, sir," Lex cut in, adding emphasis on the title, "If I have 'no natural eye' for politics, why did you choose to nominate me?"

Civello arched a brow. "My dear Hieronymus, didn't we go over this? It's because you are the only person I could trust."

"We hadn't even met before I reported before you, not too long ago. How did you know that-"

"I could trust you?" Civello but in, "Simple, really. I simply eliminated those I couldn't trust. The generals are, as a rule, only in for themselves. How could I nominate one of them? The guard captains? Even Phillida said that they're now a ruddy lot, lining their pockets with bribes from the Thieves' Guild- yes, I do believe in its existence. The ones who aren't fully corrupt dislike me, due to the… Unusual acquirement of my post. But you, Hieronymus, you have a record of full devotion to the empire. You know, you remind me quite a bit of Phillida. A strong sense of morality and public duty, a shining civic record, endless devotion- and above all an uncanny resistance to corruption. Have you ever taken a bribe, Hieronymus?"

"No," Lex replied, without even having to think.

"You see? You and Phillida are, perhaps, the only guard captains who could've ever boasted that. It's that sort of righteousness I needed in my candidate."

Civello stopped talking for a second. The captain could tell that the commander's eyes were tired. The aging commander swung his massive girth from his chair and walked slowly about his room. His eyes and Lex's fell upon the same objects, Civello's objects of luxury. Exquisite porcelain imported from Akavir. Mastercraft silverwork, personalized with the letters 'G.C.'. Tapestries that had unquestionably came from some of the finest workshops in Bretony. However, as Civello saw more and more of his life's gains, his face darkened more and more. "I wasn't always rich. Did you know that, Hieronymus?"

Civello's eyes weren't on Lex, but on another one of his trinkets, a clock which seemed to be made of ebony. "No, sir."

Civello's face broke into a small smile, but his eyes did not. "I was never poor, not like Phillida was. But I came from meager means. My father was a carpenter. He loved his craft, loved his family, and essentially loved life in general. And I hated him."

"Sir?" Lex asked, surprised at the commander's latest tangent.

"I shouldn't've. And in retrospect, I was being quite callow. But the man never aspired for anything. He was content to merely meet expectations, to simply get by with what we could. I was never lacking anything, but my father… He could've gone to the City, and made it rich here. Instead he worked in a small farming community. He was… Totally content with mediocrity. I never forgave him, not even when he was on his deathbed. I couldn't forgive him, for squandering his talents in the hinterlands."

Civello walked over to inspect another one of his possessions, a beautiful mirror. The frame was gold leaf, and, despite its obvious age, it was in pristine condition. "Perhaps I could've tolerated him if I didn't spend my holidays with my uncle. He was on my mother's side, mind you, and never talked to her. But as he had no heirs of his own, he would often entertain me at his splendid mansion. Even a humble home would've been impressive opposed to my farmhouse existence, but his villa was amazing. The building itself had no less than twenty rooms, fielding thirty servants and workers. He had fountains and statues that could've belonged in museums. There were acres of beautiful gardens which I could stroll through, and even more in the forests. Oh, Hieronymus, those were such happy days! He always had the most lavish parties where all the great people of the time would attend. It would start with a large feast that could satisfy my own prodigious appetite. And then I would stay at his side late into the night where I would listen to some of the greatest minds, political and philosophical, debate the important issues of the day… It was like a fairytale existence, which was intermittently broken by returning home to my father, who hadn't a hundred gold to his name."

"Surely the man had some redeeming characteristics, sir," Lex said, watching Civello curiously.

"Of course he did, didn't I tell you? You must pay more attention. He was a loving father who always provided for me, and my mother. He was a boon to the town, often not charging for repairs if the buyer couldn't quite afford it. His services were given away, free, to so many people in need. The mediocrity! His skills were without peer! If only he had worked elsewhere, he could've been like my uncle. And that's why I chose the path I did, Heironymus. When I joined the Imperial Guard, I made a vow to myself. I vowed that I wouldn't settle at mediocrity like my father, and instead aspire to eclipse the wealth of my uncle!" he said, his voice becoming more excited and slowly gathering more energy.

"And I did. By engaging in pursuits that were less than dutiful and spending more time in the palace than on the streets, I became both wealthy and powerful. When Phillida died, I was overjoyed. You see, I saw Phillida as someone like my father. He was brilliant, but mediocre. If it wasn't for some bizarre turn of events, namely the Imperial Simulacrum, he would have never possibly had accomplished what he had done. So I saw all his success as mere accidents, and ghosts of what a superior man, such as myself, could accomplish. Phillida died, I pulled strings and gained the office. I had finally vindicated my vow. I had utterly surpassed my mediocre father in every way," he said, his voice faint, as if he were in a dream, "And yet…"

Civello turned from his luxurious possessions and returned to his seat. He folded his hands and looked at Lex, his eyes cold and serious. "I found that, despite my victory, I was hollow. Totally hollow. The wealth that I had idolized in youth gave me nothing. Creature comforts, perhaps, but my soul was dead. No, dead isn't the right word. It hadn't even been forged. I retreated from public life for about a week, and realized that I had ultimately done nothing for the world. I had simply suckled off greater men, like some sort of leech or lamprey. Perhaps you don't understand yet, Hieronymus, as you're still somewhat young, but there is nothing more horrifying in this world- not daedra, not monsters, not necromancers- nothing which can relate to the sublime terror of having absolutely no legacy on this earth. I would've gone to my grave, and no one would have shed a tear, and the gods would have been equally ambivalent. At least, if I were hated, I would be remembered in some capacity. But I was about to die into obscurity. And… I couldn't bear the horror of it."

Lex watched Civello in some sort of awestruck silence. He couldn't think of anything to say for the life of him. "People are rotten, Hieronymus," Civello said, the words heavy as lead, "They're terrible, rotten creatures. They idolize murders and strife, they romanticize death and loss, they spend their lives like my own, chasing after totally irrelevant personal glory. But I believe in the redeeming powers of civilization. It's why the ape-men strive to be like us. Yes, I despise people but love the people. And this is the one moment in time where our society can truly have a sudden, dramatic change. The ultimate irony is that only people can lead it. They will squander the opportunity, Hieronymus. Mark my words. If we let the people do as they wish they'll ascend one of their own to the heavens, some Servius or Helseth, and nothing will change. This is no longer about the future of our silly little empire, Hieronymus, it is about the world. We need someone mediocre to lead the way into the new era. We need you."

"Me?" Lex repeated, unsure if he should be flattered or offended.

"Hieronymus, you are of a rare breed. You are one of the mediocre, like my father, or Phillida. You have no need for personal fame or create some self-aggrandizing policy for the base effect of feeding ambition. You follow your own, personal moral compass. Only one in a thousand of a thousand are like you, Hieronymus! I can not create a new era, but you can! As emperor, you will have the full reigns over civilization, and for the first time in history, one of the mediocre will command the course of the people. This is the only chance there ever will be to seal away the rottenness of people and create a society of the mediocre. These are my motives. This is why I called for you specifically. Surely you can understand why I need you above all people to help me."

Lex stared the aging commander in the eyes, "I believe I do."

Civello gave a weary smile. "You're just like Phillida, you know that? And like Phillida, I hope that your faithfulness and zeal will energize our state."

"Thank you, sir."


	13. Ghosts of Betony

Erasmus Servius marched down the road carrying laurels in his hands. He couldn't see much, as his view was partially blocked by the rose petals that were being tossed from the large, stately houses on either side of him. The road was flanked with adoring peasants on both sides, all calling out his name. He tried to smile at all of them, his soft, handsome features making some young ladies swoon. And who wouldn't? He was the pride of Reich Gradkeep, the intelligent, handsome, urbane deputy captain of the guards. He could hear the crowd singing his praises.

"Did you know that he fended off two fully grown ogres to make sure his wounded men could escape safely?"

"It's true! He fought a Daenian army three times the size of his own and won handily!"

"I've never seen such a chivalrous man, either on the field or in the palace."

"I want to bear your children, Erasmus!"

He chuckled at the last one. He honestly had difficulty keeping his eyes open at this point, as the sun was so bright and radiant, as if it was also celebrating the success of his army. His troops marched in perfect unison behind him. Erasmus raised his laurels high, and all of his soldiers flourished their weapons in perfect unison. The result was a large cheer of approval from the crowd of loving commoners. But as much as he loved the commoners, his eyes had nothing but what lay before him, at the end of the road. On a large scaffold in the town square stood an elderly man wearing long purple robes. It was Lord Graddock, his lord and master, to whom he would serve as long as he drew breath. The cheering of the crowd subsided as the young Servius climbed the stairs and knelt before his lord. He had such an amazing feeling of honor and privilege to be worthy of Graddock's attention. "Erasmus Servius," the old man said as if he were addressing his own son, "You have shown great loyalty and devotion to Reich Gradkeep, above and beyond the call of duty. For that I, and my people, are eternally grateful."

The old king then clapped softly, causing the commoners to erupt in a huge outpouring of love for Erasmus. The Imperial felt himself blush. He could hardly believe such esteem from his king could possibly be given to him. "And, young Servius, for your many contributions to the welfare of our state, I have deemed it pertinent to dub you our newest and youngest Knight of the Flame!"

The crowd hushed, and Erasmus almost fainted. To be a Knight of the Flame was one of the greatest honors Reich Gradkeep could bestow upon a person. Many held them in higher regards than the Nine. Lord Graddock drew his sword and laid it upon each of Erasmus' shoulders. "Erasmus Servius, by the grace of the Nine and the laws of this most ancient and powerful state, I hereby dub thee Knight of the Flame, eternally sworn to protect the Graddocks and Reich Gradkeep."

Erasmus could hardly keep his composure. He felt dizzy. But it was real, all of it. And when Graddock's sword returned to its sheath, the crowd broke into more cheering. Somewhere church bells were tolling. All for Erasmus. He shakily stood up and bowed before his king, "M-my lord, it is truly and honor to serve…"

Lord Graddock smiled, "And it is an honor to have you in the service." If Erasmus had died right then and there, he would've been totally content. "Also, Erasmus, I would be equally honored if you were to be at my side during the signing of the Treaty of Reich Gradkeep in a tonight. If the Gods deem it, it shall be the end of the War of Betony."

"My lord, I would prefer nothing else."

And that was the truth.

* * *

Hieronymus Lex's eyes snapped open from sleep not a moment too late. Standing above him was a figure clad fully in a black robe, holding an ebony dagger up high. Lex's mind processed the situation just in time to forcefully roll himself from his bed, the descending dagger missing his face by mere inches. From the ground he sprang up, walked back a few steps, and tried to identify his mysterious assailant.

It was nearly impossible to make out the assassin's features, as they were totally hidden by his hood. His dagger looked sharper than any Lex had every seen, and his eyes hadn't even adapted to the late night darkness yet. "Stop, lawbreaker!" he barked, "You're under arrest. I'll confiscate any stolen property, take you to the dungeons, and you can pay your fine."

The hooded agent laughed. "I think not, lapdog," he hissed, "Embrace the void!"

This is yet another thing Lex hated about criminals. They could be so melodramatic sometimes. And melodramatic equaled stupid, as Lex's vision was rapidly returning, giving him another advantage. All that was left was to goad the agent into an attack. "Then pay with your blood!" the captain bellowed.

The agent twirled the dagger than the Imperial thought he could and charged. At about that time, Lex also realized that he was both unarmed and unarmored. Very unlike him, very unprofessional. The speed of the assassin proved that he was not one of the street thugs that Lex normally dealt with, as the dagger grazed the captain's stomach as he rolled to the side.

Lex gave a shuddering breath in. He felt tired all of a sudden. To make matters worse, the assassin was going to allow him no quarter. Lex was mercilessly charged at again, and barely dodged the dagger by throwing all his weight in one direction in a very sloppy dodge. The result was that he crashed into his own table, causing the remains of his mean to clatter about the floor.

Lex suddenly felt very heavy. One part of his mind realized that the dagger must've been poisoned, but that part was so small next to the rest of his mind, which was fuzzy and tired. The captain watched the blurry assassin take a few steps closer, savoring the killing moment. He wondered if he was going to die here, with a plate of cold vegetables on his head, his senses slowly fading away, and his thumb bloody due to being nicked by his knife…

His knife! The rational part of Lex's mind kicked into overdrive, and he summoned up all of his internal supply of willpower to make his gambit work. As the assassin started to drive his blade into Lex's heart, the captain snatched his eating knife from the ground and shifted his body. It wasn't enough to avoid the blow completely, but the dagger embedded itself in his shoulder as opposed to his heart. With white-hot pain threatening to overtake him, Lex shoved the knife into the assassin's blade hand. Not expected a disabled prey to be capable of such a strike, the assassin had not prepared himself and felt the utensil sail clean through his hand.

The black cloaked assailant howled in pain, which was all Lex needed. Moments later, the door flew open, and a worried Guilliam entered the room. He apprehended the assassin quickly, and gave a worried look to his captain. Lex, however, didn't notice. His energy was totally gone. The room grew darker around him, his hearing became fuzzy, and he slipped from consciousness.

* * *

It was early morning by the time Maro returned to his store. He was very tired, and he almost walked into a display stand. He blinked a few times before walking to his desk. The merchant opened a drawer and looked over his payment voucher, and reading it was enough to get his blood pumping. 15,000 septums. They would be all his when that Servius fellow returned to Fort Nikel, and Maro's debt fears would be permanently allayed.

Maro was about to put the voucher away in his special lockbox when he noticed something. The voucher has actually been written on the back of something else. Maro slowly turned the paper over and examined the back. He wasn't exactly sure what to make of it. There were a series of odd, runic symbols that covered the back, spaced in a way that the merchant would've guessed it was some sort of poetry. Maro didn't see much use for the odd runes and was about to put it out of his mind, until a meeting with Lady Flyte suddenly flashed into his head.

"Oh, and Mr. Rufus," she had said, batting her beautiful eyelashes, "Be sure to tell me all about Fort Nikel. I don't want to be left out on a single detail!"

He thought for a moment. The runey parchment looked useless, but then again, she was a noble. Perhaps she could make something of it. He slipped the sheet into the container and locked it up tight. Later today, he assured himself, he would show it to Lady Flyte. She was sure to love it. At least, he thought so. He personally didn't see much use to it, but for reasons he couldn't understand, sometimes other people caught things he couldn't. Lady Flyte would probably be able to do it as well.

* * *

The air in the palace of Reich Gradkeep was unimaginably tense. At the room opposite of the doors sat Lord Graddock in his throne, looking pensive over the state of affairs. Standing at his right was Auberon Flyte, his cousin, who kept his eyes moving at all times, surveying the people who had assembled. At Graddock's left was Erasmus Servius, donned in the armor befitting a Knight of the Flame, breathing slowly. He bent and whispered softly into his lord's ear, "Sire, if I may, I do not like this situation. I can feel danger. We should call this treaty off, now."

"I appreciate your counsel, Erasmus" Graddock murmured so only Erasmus could hear, "But we can by no means end it now, not when we're so close."

The eastern side of the chamber held the representatives of Sentinel, the west, Daggerfall. The animosity between them was so great that you could almost feel it radiating from the two warring nations. Standing for Sentinel was King Camoran, who was staring down King Lysandus of Daggerfall. Behind both men stood their many retainers and vassals, who all had found some counterpart across the room to hate. This didn't bode well for Erasmus. The Knights of the Flame, skilled as they may be, were horridly outnumbered. While this was a delegation of peace, he couldn't help but feel something could go wrong. And not just 'not according to plan' wrong, but apocalyptically wrong. And although Lord Graddock didn't believe him, Erasmus' intuition was absolutely correct. Lord Graddock turned to the man to his right, "Auberon, please deliver the treaties to the kings."

"Of course," came his stiff reply.

Auberon Flyte's footsteps seemed to echo into infinity in the large, dead silent great hall. Every footstep seemed like it could've just as well of been an explosion, breaking the silence of hatred, but doing nothing to loosen the stress of the scenario. Flyte gave the first copy to King Camoran, slowly crossed the great hall, and gave the second to Lysandus. His footsteps died as he returned to the side of Lord Graddock, and silence once again claimed the room. Erasmus felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead. He looked to Lord Graddock, whose unblinking eyes remained locked on the two kings who read the treaties. Auberon had shaped the treaties himself, based from the agreements between the warring nations, and Graddock held his cousin's political savvy in the highest regards.

But something went wrong. King Camoran's face progressed from shock to fury as he read the treaty, slamming it against a table nearby. "Lysandus, you snake! What is the meaning of this!"

Erasmus saw Graddock tense up, but Auberon didn't seem to find anything odd. Kind Lysandus, of course, took offence to the accusation. "Excuse me, Camoran? How dare you use that tone on me! After I went to all this effort to be lenient in victory-"

"Lenient!? You promised the island of Betony was to be shared. Those were the terms I came here for."

"Camoran, perhaps you are going blind, but that is indeed what I promised to you. We share the island, you controlling the southern waterways and the-"

The king of Sentinal would have none of it, "Look at your own treaty, snake!" he yelled, refusing to listen to any sort of reason. "The devil take you!" he finished, slamming his fist into the table once more.

The men on either side started to stir. This wasn't going according to plan. Graddock stood and attempted to speak, but Lysandus cut in before the words could be spoken. "Why, I didn't write this!" he declared, looking over the document with a frown, "Someone must've changed this-"

Lysandus quickly turned his head to a priest who was standing near him. His eyes had a flash of comprehension, and the king pointed at the robed man. "It was you, wasn't it? All that talk about-"

And at that very moment one of those odd events in history happened. Sometimes the tides of history are controlled by the valiant actions of kings or generals, and sometimes it is charted by vast, uncontrollable forces. But once in a while the face of the world is changed because of a stupid accident. And that is exactly what happened at the signing of the Treaty of Reich Gradkeep. A young, inexperienced Sentinel soldier had a slight twitch, and accidentally shot off a blot from his crossbow. It sailed across the room and lodged into the shoulder of an elderly councilor from Daggerfall. There was a mass intake of breath, and soon enough everyone was upon each other.

The Kings both retreated into the core of their forces. Concealed weapons were revealed from all sides, and the warring nations charged at each other. Erasmus drew his shortsword, eyeing the start of what looked to be a bloody, close quarters combat, "Protect Lord Graddock!" he hollered, drawing as many of the Knights of the Flame as he could to the liege's side.

Lord Graddock was shocked. "This wasn't supposed to happen, I had their word-", but the king was silenced by another crossbow bolt that passed perilously close to his head.

Erasmus looked behind him. The king was unharmed, but startled. Erasmus scanned the great hall. He had never seen combat like this before. Normally it was all on the field. But here, it was different. The soldiers of Sentinel and Daggerfall started to slaughter each other indiscriminately, as they had for as long as the war had been waged. A knight ran through an elderly statesman with sadistic glee, while the fleeing priest was shot in the back of the head with a fire spell. He collapsed onto the ground and didn't stand back up. Nothing was sacred.

And then Erasmus realized a detachment of Daggerfall troops had broken off from the main force. There were five of them, all clad in heavy armor wielding large swords. They eyed Lord Graddock's jewels and crown hungrily. Erasmus knew he couldn't fend all five off, but he was determined to try.

While the other Knights of the Flame tried to hack their way to Graddock, Erasmus charged into the detachment. The eldest of the five, a bearded man, smirked, not assuming the young Erasmus hadn't much fight in him. He was proven totally wrong when the young knight's charge ended with the tip of his sword expertly striking the gap in the elder's armor, right at the armpit. The elder screamed, Erasmus ripped out the sword and kicked the man squarely in the chest. He toppled helplessly to the ground and started about the process of bleeding to death.

Without sparing a moment to watch the man fall, Erasmus ducked the sword of one of the remaining four, and allowed his flame resistant shield to absorb an incoming fireball. There were too many. Another soldier tried his luck, lunging at the young guard. It cut through Erasmus' light armor like butter, tearing through his shoulder. He yelped in pain, feeling an icy enchantment freeze his wound to the bone. With a cry of rage, Erasmus counterattacked, his shortsword clipping the man's temple. He collapsed into a pile on the ground without another action.

One of the five said something taunting. Erasmus couldn't make it out after an especially loud howl of pain from a few feet away. The taunter lunged with is sword, narrowly missing the young knight. In retaliation, he slammed his shield into to taunter's fist, causing the large sword to clatter onto the ground. A split second later, though, Erasmus' upper hand was negated by a blunt object to the head, obviously the work of one of the five. Suddenly light headed, Erasmus stumbled about. His last coherent moments involved two attacks of opportunity launched against him- one slashing bitterly into his cheek. The other was an image of a sharp point gliding directly towards his eye. He could actually feel his eyeball break and rupture, the feeling of all sorts of fluids running down his face, and he collapsed.

But he did not faint, not immediately. In the last moments of conciseness, ordering his body in vain to act, he witnessed a scene that would be replayed in his mind for the rest of his life. Lord Graddock, the man he swore to protect until death overtook him, was struck down, his blood staining his beautiful throne and robes. And for what? The remaining three grabbed the crown and jewels and attempted to flee. Now, we know in hindsight that they were killed trying to escape the great hall. But Erasmus Servius didn't. Before the void overtook him, all he knew was that his lord and master had died on his watch.

It was only to go worse from there.


	14. Rebellion

Lex violently returned to consciousness at the feeling of cloth being tightly wound around his upper torso. He was still in his room, although now sitting on his bed as opposed to sprawled about the floor. He winced at the sudden pain, and realized someone was behind him. He tensed for a moment, then realized that Kirania was sitting behind him, tightly wrapping bandages around his wound. "Glad to see you've come back to us, captain," she said coolly.

The captain attempted to move, but a sharp sting that passed through his body refused that action. Kirania shook her head. "Don't move. The poison hasn't fully worn off yet."

"Poison…?"

"Mmm…" Kirania murmured, keeping her focus only on the bandages, "Your assailant had a dagger dipped in poison. But don't worry, it's nothing fatal. Merely something to sap away at your energy and make you easier to kill. You should be happy, in fact. The fact that you've got so much mass meant that it ran its course much faster than if it had struck me."

The words didn't really sooth him, but he accepted it regardless. "What time is it…?" he muttered.

"About three in the morning, maybe a bit later. You were only out for about half an hour. Guilliam was able to knock out the assassin, and he was dragged to the dungeons for interrogation. I was called up here because I know a little first aid, and because I was able to identify the poison, of course."

Lex winced again as Kirania wrapped the bandage tighter. "How did you learn to identify poisons?" he asked with only the faintest hint of suspicion.

"I used to go out hunting with my grandfather, and poison is excellent to coat arrows in. It doesn't ruin the meat. I naturally learned to how tell the common ones apart," she said in her hushed voice.

The captain closed his eyes. "I was taken totally by surprise. It was a miracle I made it to begin with. Was he…?"

"Dark Brotherhood?" she said, beating him to the words, "Yes, we believe so. I don't know much about them, but the shoulderpad of his armor had a spread out, black hand on it, which Commander Civello told us represented their order, or something along those lines. If he was Dark Brotherhood, though, he certainly did a sloppy job. Most of them would've killed you faster than... Um… Well, something that's mighty fast."

Lex didn't respond. After a moment, Kirania spoke up, not taking her eyes off the bandages she was wrapping. "Tell me, captain, are you nervous? I would be. Do you think there will be another attempt?"

"Of course there will be," the captain muttered, "I'm not an expert on the Brotherhood, but they usually finish the job. It will, however, be a few days until they get word on their agent. Hopefully I'll be able to prepare before they can send another man to kill me."

"Do you know who could've done this?" Kirania asked, her voice masking any true concern.

"I've made plenty of enemies in the past. It could've even been a political rival. But it really doesn't matter. The Brotherhood never reveals who made their contract. I'm not going to waste time in a fruitless effort over finding who commissioned this."

To that, Kirania wasn't the one who responded. There was another silence for a few moments. "That was impressive, captain."

Lex opened his eyes and looked behind him. "Pardon?"

"You were able to fend off a professional assassin who had the jump on you totally unarmed and without any protection. I know a lot of people who wouldn't've lasted a second under those circumstances. I'm… Impressed," she finished, as if she were admitting some crime, finally tying off the bandage.

Lex closed his eyes again. "Well, thank you. But I was lucky. That was all."

Kirania opened her mouth, but wasn't able to respond. The door to Lex's room opened, and a small man scurried in. Lex recognized the greasy hair and the thin, waxed mustache. It was Civello's secretary, who bowed quickly. "Guard Captain Hieronymus Lex," he said, obviously surprised at Lex's state, "Legion Commander Giovanni Civello requests your immediate presence."

Lex's brows shot up, "At this hour?"

"He says that it is very important."

The captain sighed and hauled himself from bed, his wounds aching. "Very well, very well… Let me put on the proper clothing and I'll meet the Commander afterward."

"Of course, sir," the secretary said, bowing again for good measure, "But please be prompt. Commander Civello is very adamant about seeing you as soon as possible."

With that, the secretary shuffled back out of the room. Lex walked slowly to his clothing chest at the opposite side of the room. Every step was painful, but there was nothing he could do. He shot a glance to the Bosmer still sitting on his bed. "Kirania? Anything else you need?"

"No, sir," she responded, sliding off the bed, "I'll be on my way back to the barracks. Don't put too much stress on the bandages, captain."

"I'll keep that in mind," Lex said, retrieving his armor, "Dismissed."

Kirania saluted. "Sir!" she said, and left the room in a bit of a hurry.

Lex shook his head and donned his armor. What Civello had in store for him at this ungodly hour of the night was completely beyond him. However, he still was going to go. Although at his time of night, with the new wounds that he carried, Civello had better say something important. Lex's patience was growing thin.

* * *

My people! How long have we, the nation of Sentinel, languished under the oppressive rule of the Empire? For how long have the Nibenese sat in their capital and frittered away their time, while we were left to fend for ourselves during the hard years? When have they ever given us aid? Did they provide aid during the Wars of Betony, when the hated enemy of Daggerfall eagerly invaded our ancient lands? Where were they during the Oblivion Crisis, when not one oblivion gate was destroyed by the legions? I will tell you where they were- in the Census and Exercise office, collecting taxes while we were beset by an otherworldly invasion.

We have no history with the Imperials. We are Redguards, from our ancestral homelands of the west. Indeed, we settled this wild land, and tamed it to, while the Imperials were enslaved by the Heartland High Elves. Even Talos, who I personally believe had some Redguard stock in him, was born not too far away, and made his original legions with a healthy supply of Redguard warriors, who we all know are without peer.

Some may call my decision treasonous. I ask of them- treason? We are our own people, not to be enslaved by the will of a rapidly decaying institution such as the Empire. As Blademaster Shinji said, "The best techniques are passed down by the survivors." Who will be the survivors in ten years? A bloated, corrupt empire stretched far too thin for it's own good, or the nation of Sentinel, rich, strong, and determined to achieve victory?

The soldiers in Morrowind have already shown that the Empire is inept at putting down revolts in her own lands. Yes, I would also like to say that Sentinel now recognizes Morrowind as its own autonomous state. The Empire has done absolutely nothing to show that they have the resources to even address this strike against them. Truly, the Empire's apathy is enough to show that Morrowind is its own state.

And if Morrowind is its own state, why not Sentinel? Why should we not strive to follow the example of the brave Redguard heroes of the Second Era and forge our own state? How could the Empire, with its seemingly endless resources, squander them away, while the infinitely smaller Sentinel rises and rises? It is because we are a chosen people! The Gods themselves have delivered to us this prosperity! We must step up to the task!

My people! _My people!_ It is now time to pick up the sword! No longer shall Imperial dogs oppress us! No longer shall the fortunes of Sentinel be bogged down by a weakening 'Empire', which hasn't the strength to hold itself together! We shall rally forth, we shall fight and we shall win, no matter the cost! For we are the greatest people, a people who are destined to rule!

For the glory of Sentinel!

* * *

Count Corvus Umbranox was awakened with a start. He had been jerked from his sleep by a tall Altmer guard, who's darkened silhouette looked down at him through the night. "Get up," the guard said with a voice as frigid as a winter midnight, "Get dressed, and be in the lower foyer within ten minutes."

The count scowled, "How dare you speak-"

"Do it," the guard broke in, his cold, featureless face holding no mercy. The guard quickly left the count's chambers.

The count toyed with the idea of not obeying the order at all of a second, but he quickly decided he should take the threat as real. After all, he had developed a sort of sixth sense when it came to danger. Without wasting another moment he dressed an appeared downstairs with his commanding presence intact. His wife was sitting at one side of the room, looking very defiant. At the other end were two heavily armed Altmer guards, and between them, the Altmer diplomat. However, his usually stoic visage was broken by a mocking grin. "Ah, the count arrives. Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing to one of the chairs with legs the size of arrow shafts.

"What is the meaning of this, elf," the Count Umbranox said, looking the diplomat in the eyes.

"My, you just want to get to the chase, don't you, count? Well, I had a well-constructed speech prepared, but I suppose it would be wasted on you. I will just give you the short answer. You and your wife are to leave the island. Immediately."

The count stood up at the gall of the statement. "And on what grounds do you think you can-"

"On the grounds that I am a minister in the newly revived Aldemeri Dominion," the diplomat said, his voice powerful and grave.

The words shot through the count's bravado. "You… Can not be serious."

"Oh, but I am. And the Aldmeri Dominion will not have lesser races sully our beautiful territories. Therefore, all non-elves are to be deported immediately. It is about time that our people regain the purity that we had so cruelly taken from us."

The count could hardly believe his ears. "Deportation? Dominion? Are you insane?"

"No, I daresay my mind is quite sound. In fact, it would be insane to allow your folk blemish our beautiful homelands any more. Oh, and don't bother some scheme to contact the legion, either. You'll find that we've given them… Certain impetuses to chose the right side in this conflict," he said, his grin widening ever so subtly.

"And you think you can just throw out the Count of Anvil and a diplomat of the Empire?"

"Your honor, it was my idea that we're being quite merciful. You know, back in the olden days they merely butchered lesser races intruding on our lands. In the modern age, we've deigned to just deport them. You look angry, by the way," the diplomat said, arching an eyebrow, "I certainly hope that you're not considering resisting. That would be a very, very foolish act."

The count took a step foreward and the two guards moved slightly, bearing their weapons. He glanced at his wife, and after a long breath he shook his head. "Years of kindness," he managed, spit nearly flying from his mouth, "And this is our thanks?"

The diplomat grinned. "Playing off guilt, your honor? Trust me, that will be of no avail," he said, laying his hands on top of each other while his guards moved towards the couple, "You see, I have no remorse for what I do to animals."

* * *

Erasmus Servius inspected his troops. It was late at night, true, or maybe early in the morning. But did it really matter? He needed to leave at this hour. If not, Civello could get wind too early. And if the old buffoon realized what the Man from Argonia had planned, it could very well ruin everything.

He was in the south of Cyrodiil, in County Leyawiin. A majority of the XIIth, along with their supply trains and supporting members, stood near the road, facing the swamp. It was pitch black, with the only light provided from the veteran officer's torches and the eerie will-o-wisps that danced from deep within the swamp. Occasionally the echo of a howl reverberated among the damp trees before them, but none of the soldiers gave it any real notice. It was, after all, the swamp. This was their element.

The Imperial walked up and down the columns of his troops. Mostly Argonian, with the odd other race in a fifth of the time, now all equipped with fine new armor and weapons. Servius smirked. His time in Cyrodiil was well spent indeed. When his last supply train had arrived, Servius made his way to the front and center of his troops. He cracked his neck and addressed them. "Alright, lads. We've spent enough time wallowing about in Cyrodiil," Servius' clear, powerful voice rang out, "It's about time we make a brief stop at home to… Gather supplies."

His tongue was able to grasp all the subtitles of argonian, which many linguists would say a human was incapable of understanding. He emulated the clicks and hisses of the language as if it were his first. "But this isn't just some home leave. Oh no. We all know that the hated Dunmer-" he was broken off by a chorus of angry hissing, "Have decided that they're just too good for Imperial law. Well, you know what? We're Imperial law."

His soldiers cried out cheers and the occasional demand for vengeance. Servius' face didn't betray his internal smile. "I know we all want to go back to the Marsh permanently, but I think that bringing Imperial law back to a bunch of filthy dark elves is worth the time, isn't it, lads? 

They who enslaved your kin and stole your lands? I think its high time that somebody in the Empire goes out and shows these stinking rebels that the Empire doesn't stand for rebellion, and the XIIth is the damned finest legion to do that job!"

More cheers. Servius unsheathed his shortsword and pointed it to the swamp. "No more words, then! March!"

And so the lines of soldiers walked off the trail and into the depths of the marsh. Servius stood at the side of the road, his one piercing eye surveying the columns enter the darkened land, their torches fading from sight, one by one. He started to bring up the rear of the guard, however he felt his shoulder being tugged from behind. He turned to find one of his soldiers, looking at him respectfully. "We found something you might be int'rested in, boss."

Servius' twitched his eyebrow. "Oh really now?" he said, "Something more interesting than my strict orders to leave immediately?"

The soldier stood back and two of his allies emerged from the darkness. They held up a woman between them. She was covered in cuts and scratches, her clothes torn and soiled from the swamp, and her mouth mumbling noiseless words. Servius took a few steps foreword and squinted at her face, trying to make out her features through the gloom. Then it occurred to him who this woman was, and a cruel, venomous smile blossomed upon his scarred face. "Oh yes. This _is_ far more interesting…"

* * *

Lex entered Civello's office to find the latter looking more nervous and worried than he had ever seen him. Civello's pudgy forehead was covered in a thin venire of sweat, his eyes rolling to and fro over a sheet of parchment, and his lips moving as if he were talking to himself. The commander was standing, with one arm bracing his girth upright and the other quilled hand scrawling across the page at a blinding speed. Lex saluted, but Civello didn't seem to notice. After clearing his throat, Civello looked up. "Praise Gods," the elder said, "You've come. Come, sit. Have something to eat…" he offered, gesturing to a bowl of untouched pastries at one end of his desk.

Lex ignored the food, but sat regardless. Civello took a small handkerchief from his desk and patted his forehead. "I suppose you must be wondering," he began, speaking as if he were winded, "Why I've called you hear at this hour. You must've had quite the rude awakening," he said, with one hand somehow still writing as he spoke.

"What is the problem, sir?" Lex responded simply.

"Problem? Hah! It's more of a nightmare, Hieronymus. A worst case scenario. At the moment, it's hard to separate the rumors from the facts, but this is what we know. Last evening, the bloody King of Sentinel declared full autonomy from the Empire. Using his armies, he launched a pre-emptive strike on Wayrest, and has actually already taken a border village. Simultaneously, the Altmer of the larger of the Summerset Isles also declared their own independence. We've gotten some news that they have a mutual protection pact with Sentinel. Scouts say that two fleets have left the island, one bound for Vallenwood, the other to an unknown destination, where they no doubt seek to revive their damnedable dominion… To make matters worse, Mournhold has finally fallen. The United Morrowind Army now has an unbreachable stronghold."

There was a deep bitter silence. Lex's mouth was half open, and he couldn't for the life of him think of something to say. Civello wiped some more perspiration from his pasty forehead. "This… We havn't had anything like this. Ever. There were internal wars, to be sure, but never such a strong, anti-imperial front such as this. And to make matters worse, our legions are stretched far too thin to end these uprisings quickly. If these nations are successful in breaking off, what next? Who else will betray the empire? It's crumbling apart on my watch!"

"Sir, this is Ocato's-"

"Dammit, Lex, without an emperor, I am solely in charge of our armies! If we're not able to stop them, my career, and our shot at the crown, is finished! Finished! I'll have worked so hard, so long, for nothing!" the old man barked, more disturbed than Lex had ever seen him. "And to make matters worse, Servius has left Cyrodiil without my permission."

"General Servius?"

"Yes, he. The XIIth has entered the Black Marsh. I can only assume he's going to sweep up from there and strike Morrowind from the south."

"But commander, isn't that what we need right now? This is no time for formalities-"

"Think, Hieronymus! Think! If Servius attacks and vanquishes Morrowind, which he is very well capable of, where does that place you?"

The reality of the situation dawned on Lex like the rising sun. "He'll be a great war hero. He would return home to the love and cheers of the people."

"Exactly," Civello said, deathly serious, "And if Servius becomes a war hero, it's all over. So, Hieronymus, there is only one thing we can do. You are going to take command of a legion, march them over the eastern mountains, and defeat the United Morrowind Army once and for all."

Lex shook his head. "But Commander Civello, I'm no general."

"You're absolutely right," said Civello, handing Lex a sheet of paper. "You are an imperator."

"Imperator?" Lex repeated.

"Yes, imperator. It is a very special rank which was given out during the Remen dynasty, but retired after that. An imperator was someone beyond a general, one who could, at his own will, tap into any army at any time for any purpose. This rank, Hieronymus, will mean that you are essentially equal to me. The entire resources of the Imperial war machine are yours to command."

Lex wasn't exactly sure he was hearing this all right. "So. You mean to tell me that I'm somehow going to lead a legion to defeat an army? I've no experience-"

"The devil take experience! I need you to leave immediately. I've already contacted the VIIth legion, from Skyrim. Sigrdríf Battle-Singer leads it, and they're one of the most battle hardened groups I could muster at the moment. She herself is a proven warrior, and one of the last of the Nords who can truly use the Voice. Luckily, I know I have her loyalty, and recalled her just in case something like this was to come up. They'll be ready to move out when you are."

"But as to lead an army, sir-"

"Oh, that? That's a trifiling detail. Just ask Sigrdríf if you need aid, and you can play it off ear from there. It should be child's play, isn't that right, Hieronymus?"

Lex's forehead furrowed in frustration. He didn't enjoy being interrupted at every question, and found the prospect of leading an army in a climactic battle a little out of his job description, where the most dangerous combat involved angry Orc drunks. "… Sir. Did you say that I am to lead an army _over _the mountains?"

Civello, who had been preoccupied by returning to his writing, looked up with a curious frown on his face. "Yes, I did. Is there anything wrong with that…?"

"Well, doesn't it seem a little… Ambitious to lead a legion directly over the mountains?"

Civello blinked once, and then nodded his head, as if he were an adult trying to grasp a child's problem. "Oh, that's all? Come now! It'll be a tad bit difficult, I suppose, but we really don't have the time for you to go to one of the passes. It will alert an army to intercept you, and you'll be so bogged down with fighting that Servius will beat you to the prize. No, you'll go over the Valus Mountains. Who would ever suspect that?" he said, and allowed over his stressed face one of his signature foolish grins.

"… There's really no point in fighting this order, is there?" Lex muttered, feeling only a little nervous.

"I'm afraid not," Civello said with a shrug, "But that's the way it works sometimes. Now, you know I'd normally love to chat a little with you, old boy, but we're both awfully busy, don't you agree? So if I were you I'd get outside those walls and get your army marching, imperator. Every moment we wait is a mile for Servius."

Lex saltued, "Sir," he said, and turned for the door. But before he could quite get there, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Standing behind him was Civello. Lex had never really looked him in the face before. The old man's beady eyes, which were so small and hard to find under the folds of fat, had a tired quality that he had never noticed before. The old man's balding head was also starting to go gray. The commander offered his hand. "Godspeed, Hieronymus."

Lex slowly clasped the elderly man's hand and shook it. Civello had a surprisingly strong grip. "Thank you, sir." Lex responded.

"Now get going. Time is of the essence," said Civello.

Lex nodded and left the room, probably to rally his new army. Civello walked back to his desk, which was still totally covered in parchment. The coming days were going to be very busy indeed. "Best of luck, Hieronymus," he muttered to himself as his hand once again danced across a page, "You'll most certainly need it."


	15. Imperator Lex

Lex opened the door to leave Civello's office only to hear an odd tumbling sound. He suspiciously opened the door wide to see Kirania and Guilliam collapsed into a pile on the floor, bickering amongst themselves. He frowned at the two and shook his head. "Listening in on private conversations, are you?" he said dryly.

The response, in unison, was "We heard everything, captain," and "It was _her_ idea!"

The imperator put his hand to his head "Of course. Well, regardless, because of that eavesdropping you know that I'm leaving the city, then. I hope that the two of you can hold down the fort while I'm-"

"What are you talking about, cap'n?" Guilliam interrupted, "We're going with you, of course."

Lex raised a brow. "That's very loyal of you, Guilliam, but I'm going to enter a war zone. It's not exactly the Imperial City."

"We know that, captain," said Kirania, "But we're going to follow you anyway. We're well aware of the risks. But it's okay, because we want to come and serve with you. And if you tell us no, we'll just sneak into your army anyway. It'll mean some demerits, but we're still coming."

Lex shook his head. "I suppose that I needed even argue this, should I? Well, you two do realize that this is war, correct? Real war?"

"Sir!" they said in unison with a couple of spirited salutes.

"Well," said Lex slowly, thinking it over, "I suppose it will be for the best. An opportunity for growth. Now, we should get moving. We've got to meet the VIIth before noon, as I would take it. It's a long hike."

Guilliam had a confused look on his face. "What?"

"It's a long hike. Outside of the city." Lex repeated in a businesslike fashion.

"Well," Guilliam said, rubbing the back of his head, "Couldn't we just commandeer some horses? Civello said that you're equal to him. You can seize anything for the good of the Empire."

Lex blinked, for once feeling like Guilliam knew more than himself. "I can?"

"Of course, captain," said Kirania, turning on her heel and walking towards the city, "Think more like an imperator."

"Yeah, cap'n!" said Guilliam, also heading east.

Lex stood and watched the two walk off at a lack of words that his two protégées somehow knew more about being a leader than himself. "That's 'Imperator Lex' to you…" he said weakly. He self consciously straightened out his armor and started on his strong, brisk pace to catch up with the younger soldiers and show them that he still had command. He was, after all, imperator.

* * *

In a small house in the forest an old man was dying. The room he was in was small, dirty, and undecorated. The midnight hour allowed the only light to be a small, flickering candle on a nightstand, which seemed to be almost out of wick. The old man lay prone on a simple bed, with two people at his side. His withered old body wheezed and shook under the effects of disease and age. His listless, crusty eyes blinked open and close as if they were tired to stay open. At his side was an old lady, sobbing quietly into a handkerchief, and a relatively younger man, holding the elder's hand. "Please, father," he muttered, his voice quivering, "Don't give up yet. Hold on a little longer."

The dying man tilted his head, his dry bones creaking from age. "Giovanni…" he rasped, his voice like sandpaper, "Where is Giovanni…?"

The younger man's face darkened, "I… I don't know, father. I sent him the letter some time ago, he should've responded by now."

The elder's eyes fell out of, and then back into focus. His mouth quivered as though his chapped lips were going to speak, but he merely made a noise akin to the creaking of an unoiled hinge. After a moment of this non-speaking he looked back to his son. "Where… Is Giovanni?"

The son closed his eyes, and two tears ran down his face. Before he could respond, though, the humble home's door burst open, and what seemed like a clothed walrus entered the small chambers. It was Giovanni Civello, but younger. His hair covered more of his head, his body coated in more drooping flab, and his choice of clothing extravagant. Each hand bore several gaudy, jewel encrusted rings, and his heavily embroidered robe was striking against the homeliness of the small room. No one spoke, and Giovanni took a few steps foreword. He turned up his nose at the dwelling. "I forgot," he said at last, "How squalid of a building I used to live in."

His mother gave out a sob, and the younger man stood. "Brother," he addressed Civello, the hate evident in his eyes, "Father is at death's door. Just show some damn civility."

Giovanni Civello scoffed and walked towards the dying man. His robes swished the dirt and dust of the floor, making it look as though the rich man was walking through a low lying cloud. "Oh, forgive me. Where were my manners? I take it father isn't getting any better?"

Civello's brother growled, but didn't move from his spot. Civello, on the other hand walked across the room slowly, deliberately, as if he were savoring a moment he had been waiting so long for. His gemstones reflected what little light there was like miniature prisms, his face basking in a look of triumph. And so he kneeled before the bed of the dying man. His tiny black 

eyes shone like obsidian beads as he looked over his father's decaying features. "What a state for what was so handsome and proud a face…" Civello muttered, his eyes taking in moles and liverspots, hairs and scars.

The father looked up at the corpulent face of his son. The latter's face showed no care, no love, merely curiosity, as if it were examining a sort of specimen. "Giovanni…" old Civello managed, "You've returned…"

Giovanni's look of triumph grew across his face. "Father. I've returned for one reason and one reason alone. I came here to show you, before you die, that I am successful. I am rich, powerful, and famous; just like Uncle Antionius. I figured that you should know that there is at least one Civello worth more than dirt," he said, his lips curling into a smile.

At those words, a sort of change struck the dying man. His drooping eyelids opened wide and his atrophied muscles received one final burst of strength. A skeletal hand shot out from his blankets and seized Civello by the collar of his garments. He lifted his body from the bed, like a bonewalker from the grave, and bore his gaze into Civello's eyes. The son flinched in what resembled fear, and heard his father's final words. "Giovanni Civello, you are the poorest man I know!"

There was one final inhale of breath, and the old man died. His shriveled corpse fell back into his bed, his wife broke into tears along with his loyal son. Civello ripped his robe from the fist of the deceased, his own limbs shaking uncontrollably. He looked at his dead father and took several steps back, his body still in shock. He made up his mind then to run. He broke into a jog, leaving behind the dead and the mourning, not once looking back to the group that he once called his family.

* * *

Perhaps no man had accomplished more for so little renown than Admiral Ellah. At least, that's what he liked to fancy himself as. He had been the one that fended off the last great Maromer fleets in the epic Battle of the Crimson Atoll. He was the one who had single handedly saved Firsthold's harbor from Bosmer fire-ships during the War of the Blue Divide. He had spent even the peaceful years as the greatest bane to Redguard corsairs on the seas. And what did he receive in return for all his service? This.

He stood on the bow of a sickly looking frigate, leading the detachment of his forces not to invade Valenwood, where true glory was to be found, but the secondary target. The sea around him was a deep, churning green, and the waves struck upon the hull of his ship like blows from a mace. His hair was swept back from the salty winds, and his pale gold skin bore the marks of a lack of hydration. He sighed. The whole affair bored him.

A huge wave crashed into the ship, threatening to topple it over. Ellah merely drummed his fingers on a rail. From deep within the ship another Altmer ran outside from within the ship, his process slower than usual due to the wild pitching of the vessel on these treacherous seas. "Admiral!" he cried out, "Admiral, you must head inside!"

Ellah inspected his fingernails, and the heavens began to rain. The other Altmer shook his head in frustration, and was once again nearly bowled over by a huge wave which soaked the deck. "Admiral! Please!" he said in exasperation, finally reaching his superior's position.

Ellah turned. "Can I help you?" he asked idly.

The other Altmer shook his head. "Admiral, we're about to enter a huge tempest! Sir, we've got to go back inside! I've never seen a storm this large since-"

"Tell me," Ellah interrupted, looking back at the ominous sea, "Why did they give me this command?"

"What?"

"I said-" he was interrupted by another blast of seawater, soaking the two to the core, "Why did that sham of a general Eisalo get the command to attack Valenwood and I, Ellah, received the orders to attack Daggerfall?"

"My lord, this is not the best time-" the other tried to reason as the rain came down heavier.

"Did that Eisalo personally defeat the Blood Fleet? Did he?" Ellah inquired, as a waterspout started to form off starboard of the ship. "How many prizes did I take, Faithful?"

Faithful, the other Altmer, felt his eyes grow wide as the pillar of water started to head in their direction. "Admiral! Lorkan's treachery, Admiral, we need to get inside now!"

"It'll miss us," Ellah said with a small hand gesture. "Now, how many prizes did I take?"

"For Gods' sake, I don't want to die!"

"That isn't a number, Faithful."

Faithful sighed, "Well… I mean… It was seven, sir."

"Seven!" Ellah declared, the gale about him nearly picking him up and throwing him overboard. "Seven prizes! I swear, no one has even come close to that record. And no, the great Ellah is still trapped going to Daggerfall-"

"Sire-" Faithful said, coughing slightly at a blast of salty brine which landed in his mouth, "At least you are an admiral, correct?"

Ellah turned back to the sea and brooded. Faithful had no idea how, as the boat was being tossed about like a leaf in a tornado. "You've got a point Faithful," said Ellah at last, "I'm still and admiral. Now, answer me this. Why haven't we gone inside?"

Faithful glanced at the waterspout, which would indeed miss them, but was far too close for comfort. "Because you haven't ordered it?"

"Exactly. So let us go back inside. I suppose I need to draw up the invasion plans as well. But come now, they're Bretons!" Ellah said dramatically with a flare of his hand while walking back, "All we do is yell at them and they'll fold. Honestly this sort of work doesn't complement my good breeding…" he muttered, cheating death as a wave crashed into the spot where he had stood a moment earlier, nearly knocking Faithful off the sorry vessel and into the ocean.

* * *

Maro Rufus and Lynette Flyte weaved through the crowds of the Imperial City that afternoon. She had the look of an eager predator, as if she were chasing an unknown prey. Even Maro might've been a tiny bit unnerved if she wasn't so pretty to him. He took it that his little sheet of paper went over well with her. She had arrived in his store in the afternoon, and was very interested as to the details of Fork Nikel. When Rufus' summery turned out to be lacking details, she became very disappointed, which nearly broke his heart. In desperation he showed her the voucher, which she greedily snatched up, and within a few moments they were off at full speed to the Arcane University. Now, Maro had never been to the University, but he had a pretty good idea what it was like. Stuffy mage types giving long, boring lectures about something that was probably only theoretical, and all the other old men clapping claiming that the work was 'groundbreaking', although it would never really affect the real word. Regardless, he found himself in front of the large tower that signified the mages' domain, and a very serious looking battlemage looking them down. Lynette Flyte gave the man a radiant smile. He didn't return it. "Do you two have an appointment?" he asked, obviously suspicious.

"Oh, no," said Lady Flyte, pulling at her glove, "But we really do have some important business to take care of in there. Would you please allow us to enter? I am Lynette Flyte, of Anticlere. I must inform you that it is of great national importance to the nation Anticlere."

"You mean Daggerfall?" said the guard, unamused.

The lady frowned. "… Yes, it's important for Daggerfall," she said, her voice softer now.

The battlemage rubbed his chin. "I don't know… I really shouldn't allow this, but… Well, go ahead. Who are you meeting with?"

"The beastwoman Tar-Meena," said Lady Flyte, "She is apparently the authority on translations."

"That she is. Follow me…" said the battlemage, opening the gate. Once they had crossed the threshold, his personality changed completely and smiled widely "I really must apologize for holding you up, milady, but ever since Lex allowed that damn break-in, all the security has been at a higher state than normal…" and his conversation continued down that path.

Maro, who was looking around, leaned towards Lady Flyte. "Milady," he asked, "Why've we come all the way out here? You haven't told me yet."

"Think, Mr. Rufus," Lynette Flyte whispered back, "That paper you showed me had odd scribbles on the back of it, which resemble runes. However, they are far too primitive to be any sort of modern Argonian. It's obviously something important, as I could hardly think of anyone who could make it out. Ergo, there is obviously something written there that Servius wants to have stay secret."

"Obviously," repeated Maro, already confused.

"So what we need to do is simply get this sheet translated, and we'll have a leg up on Servius! I must say, Mr. Rufus, it really was a boon for us that you found such an interesting sheet!"

The two were eventually brought to a small study where a female Argonian was deep in study, reading over a book. "Tar-Meena!" called the battlemage, "Nobility is here to see you!"

Tar-Meena lifted her scaly head. "Nobility? Here to see me?"

Lynette Flyte took some steps over to the lizard scholar, her face beaming. "Oh, you must be the linguistics master I've heard so much about! My name is Lynette Flyte, of Anticlere."

"It is a pleasure to meet you. But master? Oh, no. I'm no master. I just like books, is all. Why have you come all this way to see me, my lady?"

The battlemage excused himself from the room while Lady Flyte opened up her handbag. "Well, you see, my good friend Mr. Rufus discovered this obscure text while in some Argonian territory. We brought it all the way to you in hopes that you could provide us a decent translation of it."

Lady Flyte offered up the piece of paper, which Tar-Meena quickly grabbed. "Let me see… Oh! Oh, my!" she said, her reptilian features stretching out in excitement, "This is very old script. You see the bend in Rune 14, and how there is this natural break in the flow of the other ones? It's characteristic of the very, very old tongue of what you would call Argonian. This would only have been known by a great scholar of our people's history, or someone who lives deep within the marsh."

Lady Flyte leaned in closer to Tar-Meena, her face anxious. It was enough to make Maro, who normally snored at the mere mention of academics, curious himself. The lady's brown eyes shimmered. "Well? Can you translate it?" she asked, her voice hopping up an octave.

"Of course. It is my people's work, after all," said Tar-Meena.

Silence fell as Tar-Meena's eyes worked back and forth across the page. Lady Flyte bit her bottom lip while Maro Rufus wondered what the excitement was all about. The Argonian read more and more, and her face started to become more and more animated. Her lidless eyes opened 

wide, her spines quivered, and she suddenly gave a small cry, actually dropping the paper. "O-oh my!" she declared, "Do you know what you have there?"

Lady Flyte shook her head violently. "What?"

"This is…" Tar-Meena said, unsuccessfully trying to keep her composure, "This is a historical event. You have one of the most important lost texts in history! This has been lost for millennia! It can't be… But…"

"What is it!?" cried Lady Flyte, unable to control herself.

Maro looked about himself, "What is it, now?"

Tar-Meena looked up at the two, her expression shocked. "This is the _hah-eckt-shah._ It's the Hist creation myth!"


	16. Hah Eckt Shah

Civello entered the Elder Council's chambers stoically. He knew this moment had been coming all morning, and frankly was nervous. But he could not show it. If he showed the fear he had about all this, it was already over. The chambers were large, but spartan. The only real feature of the room was a large table, with about two dozen old men sitting around it. Although the table itself was circular, Ocato occupied the largest chair and hence was the most important figure. "Legion Commander Giovanni Civello," he said, opening his arms, "Please take a seat…"

Civello sat down at the chair opposite of Ocato's. The council members were looking at him expectantly, and he could feel a bead of sweat trickle down his pudgy face. The Altmer coughed once and read a piece of parchment in front of him. "I take it," he began, "That you are aware that the Summerset Isles and Sentinel have recently formally seceded from the Empire?"

Civello looked the other man in the eyes, ignoring the rest of the council. "I am."

Ocato nodded slowly and spent another moment reading. "Then I take it you are aware still that Mournhold has fallen?"

"I am."

"I see," said Ocato, with the faintest hint of a flare in his eyebrows. "I am afraid that there is then very little to discuss."

Civello felt like a lead ball had dropped into his chest. "What are you getting at?"

The chairman shook his head. His hair was graying, which was extraordinarily rare for his race. "Look, Giovanni, I know you've been good to us in the past, but we simply can't keep this up. The Empire is fracturing, and you've done little to prevent it. I'm sorry, old friend," the battlemage said, putting a palm to his forehead, "But we've found it in the best interests of the nation to strip you of your command."

"What?" said Civello, barely checking his urge to stand.

"Look, Giovanni, it's nothing personal. But we need someone in office who can handle this coming conflict well. And while you have indeed done-"

"Just you wait one second, Ocato!" Civello declared, "I've done of damn fine job of managing the legions!"

"So you say. But we have several provinces up in arms, and frankly hardly enough resources to deal with them. Those recalls, I'm afraid-"

"We agreed on those together," responded Civello, looking in vain about the council chambers for support, "We both found that keeping those legions near the City would keep them loyal. Would you like to have a military coup, Ocato?"

"Listen," said the chairman, now agitated, "Regardless why we did it, Morrowind is quickly slipping from our grasps. The Courier is mocking us in nearly every issue, and public support is quickly dwindling for our policies. I think that some new blood in the office-"

"I've held this post for hardly a year, and I'm the most qualified man for the job!"

Ocato slammed his hand on the table. "I've made my decision, Civello. I'm going to appoint a new commander come Sundas. I'm sorry, but with this fracturing, I simply can't keep hold of incompetence."

Civello stood. "Incompetence? _Incompetence?" _he said in disbelief. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. I didn't think you were such a slave to public opinion, Ocato."

The Altmer stood in turn, while the other members of the council slid into their seats, letting the two personalities reign over the affairs. "Don't you make the accusation to me, Civello. Everything you accomplished was due to _my _influence. The only reason you were ever commander in the first place was because I deemed it fit."

"Don't talk like that to me. I know you too well for that sort of speech to work. You always were a little irresolute, Ocato, but never spineless. You never… Sacrificed the common good because you were afraid of your standing."

"I'm not doing this for me," said Ocato, putting his hand up "It's for the Empire."

"If you're going to use the term 'empire'," said Civello, disgust in his face, "Then at least act like an emperor. Not like a frightened little boy, more concerned about how his peers see him than the greater good. You know as well as anyone that no one understands more about how the legions work than myself. This conflict is not going to be won due to some heroic yet idiotic solider as Legion Commander, like Phillida. Who were you going to appoint, anyway? The Champion?"

"… The Champion was one of my options."

"Hah. The Champion might be a master of battle, but throw a hero like that in command and they'll suffocate under the paperwork in seconds. There is no man who can match my management, is there?" said Civello, looking about the chambers. "Is there any man who is more fit to hold onto this post? Is switching out the commander 'good for the empire' or good for your image? Shame upon this council! Shame upon those who would merely placate the people instead of truly aiding them! By the Nine, if Uriel were here to see this, he would have prayed to be knocked down upon the spot and have his soul thrown into Oblivion!"

Ocato sighed and sat back down, folding his hands. His eyes closed, and he sat in thought for several moments. The other members of the council said nothing and made no noise. Civello stood, his pump face having taken on a reddish complexion, and his hair damp with sweat. Ocato shook his head, his eyes still closed. "Listen, Giovanni. We're friends," he said at last, "And I don't want this to come between us. But you've got to realize the position I'm in. The Empire has never seen such evil days."

"Which is exactly why you need to show more resolution than ever before," countered the Imperial, "And do what is right, even if the public doesn't appreciate it. The reason the Empire exists is to help the people, isn't that correct? Come, Ocato, show that courage you used to flaunt on the battlefield. Make the right choice."

Ocato remained silent, his features twisted in thought. Civello bit softly upon his lower lip. Eventually, Ocato looked back at the commander. "One month, Giovanni," he said gravely. "I'm giving you one month. If you don't either take Mournhold, invade the Summersets, or raze Sentinel in that time, it's over. No exceptions."

Civello smiled. "One month is all I need. Imperator Lex is already en route to Mournhold as we speak."

The council started to mutter about themselves distressed, and Ocato's brows shot up. "'Imperator' Lex?"

Civello chuckled as he left the chambers, "Come, old friend, show a little faith in Hieronymus. He very well may be the man who saves us all!"

* * *

Maro sat tapping his feet while Lynette Flyte paced back and forth. They were sitting outside Tar-Meena's room, both wondering when the Argonian would be finished with the translation. Maro had tried to browse some of the books lined on the walls, but all of them looked so old that if he so much as opened them they would crumble to dust. Lady Flyte, on the other hand, was completely immersed in the moment, and was gently chewing her nail, even though it was under her glove. After what seemed to be hours, Tar-Meena's scaly head popped through the door. "I'm done with the partial translation," she said, "You can come in."

The two humans filed into the room quickly. Tar-Meena sat, with ink on her fingers, before a new sheet of parchment. "This is really revolutionary, really. I mean, every creation story that we possess comes down from the Ehlnofey, which are of course the ancestors of both men and elves, as well as many beastfolk. However, not once has the _Hah-eckt-shah _ever been found in it's entirety. It was generally assumed that the text was lost forever, after the realm of the Hist sank into the ocean."

Maro scratched his head. "But aren't Hist trees?"

Lady Flyte blushed slightly, but Tar-Meena gave him a friendly smile. "To call the Hist trees is a… Very incorrect deduction of their true role and nature. It's the equivalent of saying that a lizard is the same as the Dragon. True, both are scaly beasts and look similar on the outside, but the Hist are far and away a totally different state of being than a simple tree."

"Oh."

Lady Flyte coughed daintily. "So, the poem…?"

"Ah, yes. Well, another reason that this is such a find is that it is, more or less, complete. I would've been overjoyed to find a few lines, but to have it be this perfect, well, it's hard to put into words. I've translated it partially now, as the script isn't particularly difficult to work with. I've taken the liberty, my lady, to replace some difficult, archaic terms of my people with Aldmeri terms that you would undoubtedly be more familiar with- the pure version can wait for scholarly publishing. And yet, in this tongue lacks the music that it has in the original…"

"That's fine," said Lady Flyte with a radiant smile, "I would be happy to hear it in any form."

"Very well…" said Tar-Meena, holding up the parchment to the light, her small red eyes putting it into focus. "Let us begin…"

* * *

Vivec would have been disappointed in Fedris Hler, had he not vanished during the crisis. Saryoni was certainly disappointed. But it had to be done. There was no choice. Hler was, after the death of Almalexia, put into an impossible position. His temple was crumbling around him. Disident priests were happily stabbing holes into long held dogma, and Imperial Cult agents were eagerly converting his masses. So the archcanon of Mournhold decided to take more drastic measures.

He didn't especially condone lying to the masses, but what was he to do? Tell them that centuries of tradition was a lie, and that the Morrowind people has been following a faith spawned by the egos of three murderers? Impossible. No. Better to let the people keep faith in their gods, even if they were dead. ALMSIVI; that was the past, present, and future of Morrowind, and Hler meant to keep it that way.

Indeed, it would be wrong to view Hler as totally involved in his own ambition. He loved his people. The Dunmer were an ancient, proud people, not contaminated with the filth traditions of the haughty Altmer, or even worse, the barbarous humans. If the Temple fell, it would mean that Helseth was the winner. And if Helseth won, it would mean that his nation's unique, precious culture would slowly dissolve under the yolk of Imperial oppression. That is why he signed the alliance with Sentinel and, reluctantly, the Dominion of the High Elves. If he was able to topple Imperial might here, it wouldn't be that much more difficult to once again have the outlanders driven out. And if the outlanders were driven out, why, perhaps it would be Morrowind's time to be great.

This is what the archcanon thought as he walked through Mournhold's palace, which unfortunately held no Helseth. Berel Sala, the Ordinator, was at his side, looking stoic as usual. "We've done well. Who was to think that we would take the palace this quickly?" Hler wondered aloud.

"It's not over yet, your honor," replied Sala, not looking at Hler "We've still got enough to worry about. Scouts report that a legion is starting to move over the Valuses."

"A legion? A single legion, trying to cross the Valuses? Ocato is desperate. To think the mighty Empire is reduced to trying to throw single legions across the mountains. They'll be crushed. There is no question."

"Lord Vivec taught us to be humble, Excellency," said Sala, looking about the abandoned chambers, "I would still take the empire of men as a serious threat."

Hler scoffed. "You're not frightened, are you Sala?"

The younger ordinator glanced at a tapestry at the far end of the room. The Imperial Dragon. And although it had been tattered and frayed, it still looked as intimidating as it was when it was new, hanging behind the king of Mournhold. "I'm not frightened," he said, his eyes glued to the dragon, "But I'm certainly trying to be realistic."

* * *

After a full day's ride, Lex, Guilliam, and Kirania had finally arrived near the camp Civello ha directed them to go to. Despite the fact he had been imperator for less than a day, Lex could already feel the power he now wielded. After asking the price for three horses at the stables, Guilliam dropped the fact that Lex was now far more than a captain. He had received them for free, along with artisan saddles. However, this privilege didn't force his mind away from the City, which was now growing smaller and smaller in the distance. The Fox was laughing at him, as was Christophe. He knew it.

He heard Kirania and Guilliam laughing behind him, probably joking. The young generation. When he was their age, Lex was working nonstop, always focused on his duty and his future. His obligation to uphold the laws and traditions of the Empire, and, in a way, preserve the foundations of his society. That duty is what gave his life meaning- it was what proved that he was more than some irrelevant begger. And yet he couldn't shake the feeling that all the good he did, the thieves and murders who were now behind bars, was being negated as working as a pawn of Civello.

They were far into the mountains now. The trail they were following had become quite treacherous, and Lex realized in retrospect a surefooted mule would've been very helpful here. Rocks were scattered around the trail, and the wind howled on occasion. The imperator breathed in a deep breath of mountain air. It stung his lungs. A few flakes of snow drifted in front of his vision, and he suddenly felt quite cold. The only noise that interrupted the whistling of the wind was the occasional chuckle of Guilliam, who was now in the midst of a rather tasteless Khajiit joke.

And then Lex saw someone standing on a sheet of rock not too far away. A Nord was standing still as a rock, her body striking against the grey sky behind her. She was both tall and well built, clad in the old style legionary armor. Her face's features were serious, and she looked down on the trio with a rather judgmental glare. Lex's horse stopped trotting, the young Breton stopped talking, and the imperator stared down the woman for nearly ten seconds.

At that point, the powerful Nord leapt from the ledge and plummeted to the ground, landing gracefully. She walked over to Lex, tossing a blond braid behind her as she spoke. "You must be Imperator Hieronymus Lex. The Legion Commander said you would come."

Lex looked her over for a moment. He didn't often meet the legionary type, and tried to keep his cool as he replied. "I am. And who might you be?"

The woman, still looking deathly serious, gestured to herself. "I am Sigrdríf Battle-Singer. I run the VIIth out of Fort Remanmoth, up near Snowhawk. And you're supposed to be the one who's leading us?"

She looked Lex over. He honestly could say he hadn't met such a large woman in his entire life. He felt somehow pinned by her unflinching gaze and, for yet another time today, that he was totally unqualified for his newfound office. "I am," he said, keeping his voice firm.

Sigrdríf kept staring until she finally sighed. "You Imperials are all the same. You think that you can toss some city boy at the reigns of a legion, and somehow think that he'll be some sort of second Septum. Let me ask you, how much battle experience do you have?"

"I've fought several skirmishes against criminals-"

Before Lex could finish his response Sigrdríf raised her hand, and as if on cue, a blast of cold wind chilled him to the bones. "I didn't ask you how many weakling, skooma-blind, poor street urchins you wound up tossing to live the rest of their worthless lives in some cell. I asked you if you ever fought a battle. To know the rush of combat. To know that your life is literally teetering on the brink of death, and that at any second the thin, thin line that links you to life can be forever severed."

Lex glanced behind him. Guilliam look visablly startled, and even Kirania, who usually had a stable head, seemed as if she were a little frightened. Children. It would take more than words to frighten Hieronymus Lex. "No, I've never been in that sort of combat."

"I figured as much. Well, imperator, let me tell you the situation as clearly as possible. Most of the legions in Morrowind have been fully routed. The only friendly face we'll see is Darius' Deathshed, and that's assuming he hasn't been cornered and quashed at this point. The United Morrowind Army outnumbers us at least three to one, and also has one of the highest morale on Nirn. They represent one of the most powerful and cohesive fighting styles I've ever seen, using the power of ordinators, terrible insect mounts, archmages, and veteran foot soldiers to dominate and defeat any foe that stands before them. We're an all Nordic legion, and they hate us especially, and will most likely fight this legion in particular with an unprecedented fury. The men here are far from their homes and wives, all not very invested in defending the Imperial cause. If you're not either extremely capable, or extremely smart, or unbelievably lucky, I'm telling you here you are walking into your death. Understand?"

"Yes."

"I certainly hope so, city boy. And just because you're a fancy imperator, don't think I'm going to submit to what you want me to do," she said, shaking her head, "Because if you listen to what I say, to the letter, we might, _might, _live."

She turned and pointed down the road. "We'll meet in camp. Farewell."

She then broke out into a surprisingly fast run and vanished down the path. Lex tossed a glance behind him to his younger charges. "I told you two this wasn't going to be a picnic," he said, spurring of his horse.

Guillam gulped and slowly headed foreword. Kirania, however, took a moment to watch the two trot through the falling snow in these craggy mountains, so far from home. She had never actually seen snow before. "Tailing Lex…" she whispered, "This isn't worth getting killed over."

But she trotted foreword regardless, into the white curtain of snow.

* * *

_Fortunate are those who remember the story of the great creation. I will relate to you this story in the way that the Hist tell it, they who speak only to those who are willing to hear._

_Book one, in how Hah and Eckt feuded. In the beginning there was the emptiness. This was the Shah. The Shah filled all of the great inkiness with its tendrils, and there was no warmth. Shah was lonely and in his great sorrow made Hah and Eckt, who were brothers. But Shah knew that because he was the Great Void, no one would love him truly. In that matter, he made Hah and Eckt hate each other, and the Two Brothers both chose opposite sides of the Great Void. And so it was Hah-Eckt-Shah, the three. And Shah, who was no longer lonely, decided to start the Wheel of Time, and so the universe began._

_Shah was everywhere, and Hah and Eckt both wanted to escape from his cold, dead clutches. So the Two Brothers created Nir, the being of heat, and she was the first female. Both Hah and Eckt loved Nir, and she loved them both equally. Hah and Eckt were infuriated and fought each other over the love of Nir, and after five eras had came and passed, Hah was the victor. Eckt fled to seek refuge with Shah and take comfort in the black coldness, where he felt no pain. Hah and Nir made love, and from that copulation came forth the Sun and the Twelve Spheres. Hah and Nir loved creation, as it was their own. And for a long while, it was good._

_Book two, in how Nirn was formed. Eckt emerged from the Great Void bitter and cold. He viewed this creation and felt bitter anger deep in his heart. Eckt returned to the open lands and once again took up arms against Hah. Hah, who had grown weaker over his love for Nir, fought and fought, but in the end both Hah and Eckt severed each other's heads._

_From Hah's neck came the Radiant Ones. First was the Great Dragon, who quickly flew to the Wheel of Time, for without the Two Brothers it would have surely stopped. Next came Mara, the mild mother, who went to the Great Dragon to give him soothing words. Next came smiling Kynareth, and she blew the first breath that became the wind. Those three represented Hah. They loved Creation._

_From Eckt's neck came the Shadowed Ones. First was Moraa, who could Pierce the Veil. Next came Jyggalag, who despised the Great Dragon. Next came Dagon, who shrieked in sadness when he saw that Eckt was dead, and swore revenge against Nir, who he saw as the cause of all the trouble. Those three represented Eckt. They hated Creation._

_And the blood from the two brother's necks flowed like a river into a pool where it mixed. And from that mixture came all the rest of the Oldest Ones. They chose whichever side they preferred, some heading to the Radiant Ones and becoming the Aedra, others heading to the Shadowed Ones and becoming Daedra. All those Oldest Ones you know came from this event, and any other is a lie or a hoax._

_Nir wept and wept when she saw that Hah was dead. She then took his seed and used it to become pregnant once more, and the child she bore was Lorkhan Doom-Drum. Then she took her love's dead body and dissolved into it, and the Twelve Spheres, which were damaged during the battle also dissolved into Nir and Hah. Those all became Nirn, our world, however there was no life worth mentioning there. When Shah found Eckt dead, he to wept and wept. His black tendrils picked up Eckt's headless body and the dissolved to from Oblivion, but Shah still existed as Shah outside in the Void. The daedra chose to follow Shah, while the Aedra tended to favor Nirn._

_Book three, in how Lorkhan Doom-Drum made his ultimate decision. Lorkhan Doom-Drum was all alone now, as the Aedra were jealous that he was born of both Hah and Nir, and the Daedra despised his connection to them. So Lorkhan Doom-Drum wandered alone, both into Oblivion and over the fields of Nirn. Nirn was sad and empty, and Lorkhan Doom-Drum's heart was filled with loneliness. He sat on Red Mountain and cried for a whole era, because none would ever speak to him._

_However, two different beings heard his piteous sobs and came to him. The first was smiling Kynareth, who sat next to Lorkhan Doom-Drum. "Why are you crying alone, brother, while the other Aedra feast and enjoy themselves in Aetherius, eating fresh fruits and drinking sweet nectar? Come, brother, follow me, and we shall be happy together."_

_But Lorkhan Doom-Drum shook his head sadly. "Smiling Kynareth, I can not. For your kinsmen despise me, and call me terrible names. They despise the fact that I am born of both Hah and Nir, and will have nothing to do with me." And then the two wept together._

_The second who came was Moraa, from his realm in Oblivion. He sat next to Lorkhan Doom-Drum and shook his head. "Why are you crying, Doom-Drum? Are you not the son of both Nir and Hah? You should be basking in your birthright, not weeping here like a little child. Come, follow me to my Apocrypha, and we shall discuss the music of the timeless together."_

_But Lorkhan Doom-Drum shook his head. "No, Moraa, I can not. Knowledge might be your opiate, but I can not take solace in it. Indeed, my heart is empty and bitter. If only I had someone to help share the pain with, if only I knew a way to include all the joy of your existence, smiling Kynareth, and the gravity of yours, Moraa. But no, I am cursed to be forever alone, forever spurned."_

_Morra, however, was not convinced. "Doom-Drum, if that is how you feel, do not merely weep, but take action! Think of a way to combine all the emotions you know of, and shape the world in that image. You are the only true child of Hah, O Doom-Drum, if it be your will, then change this barren land to better suit your desires. You've always been the craftiest of us all."_

_And Lorkhan Doom-Drum decided just that. He plotted to himself how to find a way to ease his pain, and soon had drafted his final plan. He flew back to his home in the starry sky, and Kynareth frowned as she watched him leave._

_Book four, in how Lorkhan Doom-Drum tricked the Oldest Ones to form the Mortal Plane. Lorkhan Doom-Drum, along with Moraa, entered the vast Tower of the Ageless and spoke to those who were gathered, "Fellow friends! I have found the way to extend our universe a thousand fold! By adding your essence to the Bitter Cup we can empower the cosmos, as Moraa has discovered. We know among all of us Moraa is the wisest."_

_At this, the Great Dragon stood. "What nonsence is this, Lorkhan? We know that you hate us above all others, as you are fully divine. No, I do not believe so easily that you are truly here to aid us, and this is actually a trick, for you've always been the craftiest of us all."_

_At these words, smiling Kynareth stood. "Please, elder brother, do not speak such words of our esteemed cousin. He might enjoy the occasional trick, but never has he actively sought to betray us. I think if Moraa, who is the wisest, approves, we should to."_

_At the Great Dragon rumbled, but he could not bring himself to curse his younger sister. So he was the first to add his essence into the Cup, the essence of age, both the curse and boon of mortals, allowing them to grow but damning him to die. After him was MARA, the mild mother, who added the feelings of love to the cup, allowing mortals eventually the power to love and be loved. After Mara came her daughter, born of the Great Dragon, DIBELLA, who tried to mimic her mother's essence. However, her addition was polluted by eroticism, giving the mortals both pleasure and sadness. Next was industrious ZENITHAR, who added the spirit of commerce, with both it's potential to bring out the best in man and it's greed. Smiling KYNARETH was next, who added hope and optimism to the Bitter Cup. JHUNAL stepped up next, and added compassion to the mixture, letting the mortals know what mercy was. And that is was the Aedra added._

_MORAA was the first of the Daedra, who added knowledge and wisdom that he hoped dearly the mortal races would take to heart, for only he, Doom-Drum, and smiling Kynareth knew what was to soon happen. Scheming AZURA was up next, who added the mysteries of the dim hours. BOETHIAH, good at deception, was next, who added her personal views to the Cup, teaching the mortals how to treacherously kill each other and their betters. VILE CLAVASIUS walked up and sprinkled his own brand of wish-wanting into the Bitter Cup, and he even desired the Cup for himself. DAGON was next, who spat into the cup, giving mortals both ambition to become great and try to cause change. Upon seeing this JYGGALAG added his essence, concerned about the preservation of order and harmony, no matter the cost. VAERMINA came next, and added fear, uncertainty, and loathing into the Cup with a smile on her face. Her sister NAMIRA also added to this concoction, putting in revulsion and sickness. MOLAG BAL then strode forth and gave into the mixture the want and desire to enslave and cause misery, followed quickly by his concubine the NIGHT MISTRESS, who breathed black night into the cup. SANGUINE same next, and added debauchery, hedonism, and indulgence, all the while laughing at Jyggalag. MEPHALA stood next, but not even we know what exactly he added to the Bitter Cup. PYRITE refused to add his power to the Cup, as he suspected Lorkhan Doom-Drum of trickery._

_The Webspinner handed the Bitter Cup back to Lorkhan Doom-Drum, and the Great Dragon looked to the trickster. "Now, Doom-Drum, empower the cosmos as you claimed you would, you and Moraa together, and we can see if this was worth our time. It had better well be, or I will be very displeased."_

_And Lorkhan Doom-Drum laughed. He energized all of the contents to the Bitter Cup with his energy, as Moraa has instructed him to do so, and threw it at the Great Dragon._

_Book five, in how the dragon broke. The Great Dragon was surprised, and he was hit directly in the chest by the Bitter Cup. Then there was the Great Flash. The other Timeless Ones covered their eyes, even smiling Kynareth, except for Lorkhan Doom-Drum. During the flash he found the Great Dragon writhing on the ground, the energy having been directly absorbed into his body. "Hah!" said Lorkhan, "Look at you now. You're not so tough after you've been struck with the Bitter Cup, are you, Dragon God? Well, it's time for me to get even. All of you will see my sorrow now."_

_And Lorkhan used the hand gesture secrets that Moraa had provided for him, and the Great Dragon screamed. He was sundered into three different aspects, all of which flew from him in the cataclysm. And then the Wheel of Time stopped and spun backwards, then forwards, and Meridia sprang forth from Hah's neck, and it was far too late to prevent the fate of the cosmos. Nirn shimmered, and its layers slid off. One stayed with the Timeless Ones in Aetherius. However, one followed the Great Dragon's aspect and tore the veil, as Moraa had intended. It settled itself in a new plane, the mortal plane, in which the Gods could not walk, only watch. _

_And the Great Dragon, who was now Akatosh, screamed in fury. "Damnedable trickster! What have you done! You have brought a new plane into existence, against my will! Do not think this will go unpunished!"_

_And Lorkhan Doom-Drum merely laughed. "I do not fear you rage, O Great Dragon, for now you know my sufferance."_

_And then Akatosh howled, and the tower shattered into eight different pieces._

_Book six, in how Lorkhan Doom-Drum was killed. Akatosh had realized that Aetherius has been irrevocable severed from Mundus, and that Lorkhan Doom-Drum was the reason for it. He, in his rage, fell upon the trickster, along with many other Timeless Ones, to extract his furious revenge. Lorkhan Doom-Drum turned to Moraa in fear. "Now, Moraa, piercer of the veil, save me from the destruction that our kinsmen wish to wreck upon me!" _

_Yet Moraa gave a sad smile to Lorkhan Doom-Drum. "I am sorry old friend, but for you to have your ultimate victory, you must die."_

_And so the Doom-Drum screamed as Dagon reached into his body and tore out his very beating heart. This he threw back to Lorkhan Doom-Drum's favorite area, the Red Mountain, where it was lodged in the very soil. The blood that poured from this was the Ehlnofey, who drunk in all the energies of the Bitter Cup. They scattered across the land like rats, and before the sun had set that day, nineteen kingdoms had already been established._

_At that point, Akatosh and Dagon argued over what to do with the corpse. Dagon, in his hatred for creation, wished to desecrate it. Akatosh wanted to give it proper funerary rights, as Lorkhan Doom-Drum was his half-brother. During this argument, Moraa walked over to the fallen trickster. "It is not yet your time to die, Doom-Drum", he whispered to the fallen one._

"_Traitor!" hissed the Doom-Drum in response, "You have left me here to die! A curse on you. You promised an end to my pain, and understanding, not this death."_

_Moraa frowned. "O Doom-Drum, you were once so wise! This Mundus you have created is distinct from these Timeless Ones, and these Ehlnofey children of yours are destined to become great themselves, but have capacities that the Gods themselves lack! But alas, being composed of so many spheres means that each and every one of them is doomed to die!"_

_And Lorkhan Doom-Drum wept. However, he looked to Moraa. "Old friend, is there some way for me to give strength to these poor, weak, foolish mortals, composed of so many spheres and doomed to die?"_

_Moraa nodded sadly and taught the trickster the proper gestures to magically enchant his own eye, so one day his children could use it to truly pursue their own fate. He plucked out his eye, now his sole artifact, and tossed it towards Red Mountain. But his vision was obscured, so it went off track. And then Lorkhan Doom-Drum died. _

_Book seven, in which the genesis of the Hist occurs. The Doom-Drum's eye flew across the land until it fell into the Marsh. It sunk deep. And then, due to it's influence, the firsts roots began to grow. They grew larger and larger until they started choking the very ground. Then the Eldest Tree rose from these roots and opened up it's many flowers, and slowly the Hist began to multiply, with Lorkhan's Eye at the center of the Eldest Tree for every era since._


	17. Frosts of Deception

Lady Flyte burst from the Arcane University with a look of resolve on her face the likes of which Maro had never seen before. She violently opened her parasol as she dodged and weaved throughout the crowds of the Imperial City, sometimes muttering things aloud. Maro strained his ears to pick up a few stray words, but they were few and far between. "He couldn't risk it all on… The odds of it being true are… It's a ridiculous gamble; completely out of character…"

The rest was unintelligible, snippets of a feverish mind, none of it really making much sense. Eventually, Lady Flyte reached a bench and sat down, wiping a thin layer of sweat from her forehead. After spending a moment in her own thoughts, she looked up at Maro, her face more troubled than she normally allowed. "Tell me, Mr. Rufus," she said with an exhausted breath, "What did you get from that story? That silly Argonian one."

Maro pondered for a moment. "Well… I'm not too sure, really. It wasn't like all the creation stories I was told. Really different, in fact."

"Exactly," said the lady, who rose from her seat and started to pace back and forth. "It's so alien… It can't possibly be true. But then, why would Servius put so much stock into it? There's got to be a reason he's sweeping south into Murkwood. And there's got to be a reason he gave that voucher to his aide like that…"

"What was that thing, even?" Maro said, resting a hand on his chin, "The Eye of Lorkhan? I've never heard of that before."

Lady Flyte stopped her pacing for a moment and glanced at Maro. Her normally serene eyes were filled with doubt and worry, as if she had suddenly remembered a great burden. "Tell me, Mr. Rufus," she asked, "Have you ever heard of the Eye of Argonia?"

Maro shook his head, causing Lady Flyte to put her gloved hand to her mouth, as if she were attempting to bite a nail. "… There have always been… Stories, if you could call them that, of a great treasure deep, deep within the Black Marsh. There's never been a solid consensus about it. Some say it was stolen by Nocturnal in the First Era, others claim that the Eternal Champion, if he ever existed, collected it when he raided Murkwood back in the day. Still others, some scholars, think that there is evidence that connects this treasure to the Miracle of Peace. But most mainstream adventurers say that it simply doesn't exist. How could something like that go unfound for so many years…?"

Maro frowned. He wasn't exactly sure what Lady Flyte was worried about, but it certainly sounded rather grave. "I'm… Very uncertain," she said after a moment, "Servius is one of the top contenders for the crown. I've no idea why he's off collecting treasures. Father is not going to be pleased to hear this."

"Your father?"

"Naturally," Lady Flyte muttered, "That's why I'm in the city after all. But why am I telling you this? It's irrelevant. What's important-"

Maro shook his head. "This isn't irrelevant. My lady, you seem very pressured. What's on your mind? You can tell me."

Lady Flyte looked at the ground and opened her mouth. In that moment, Maro noticed something in her eyes. Something changed about them. They lost one sort of soulful quality, the one where it seemed as they could communicate as well as words, but took on a new one. As though they were suddenly uncovered, Maro noticed that deep inside Lynette Flyte's eyes lay a sort of sorrow and weariness he had never noticed before, and he was stuck with pity. The radiant, sociable, clever lady was replaced with a frightened and confused girl.

Yet that lasted only a moment. Within seconds, the depths of her eyes were once again covered, and her soul locked away. She gave an airy laugh and stood up. "Oh, Mr. Rufus," she said, her voice now like chimes, "There isn't anything really wrong. I'm just slightly exhausted, that's all. In fact, I think I'll return to the hotel. It might do me good, don't you agree?" she finished with a radiant smile.

Maro was taken aback, unsure of how to analyze her sudden change in demeanor. "I-… Yes. Hopefully I'll see you later?"

"It would give me much pleasure," said Lady Flyte, starting to walk down the road, as if she were in a hurry, "Do stay in good health until then, Mr. Maro Rufus."

Maro watched the lady clad in blue walk away and he sat on the bench where she had been moments earlier. His normally blithe face was contorted with thought, which made the voice that suddenly spoke from behind him surprise him all the more. "So, you noticed them, too?"

The Imperial jumped in fright and looked around. Right near him stood a Redguard tossing an apple up and down in the air with a distant look on his face. "Varnado!" Maro called out, "You scared me half to death!"

Varnado walked over to the bench. "You saw, didn't you? You saw her eyes. I know you did. Even you can't be that stupid."

Maro frowned. He tried to make out Lady Flyte in the crowd, but it was too late. "… I don't understand," he sighed, "It's like… I have no idea how to describe it. What I saw."

Varnado looked down the street, still with a distant air about him. "Lynette Flyte. The daughter of Lord Auberon Flyte, regent of Anticlere. Servant to the King of Daggerfall. I told you, Rufus, she isn't you lady luck," the Redguard continued, with traces of bitterness lining his voice, "You'll never really understand her, no matter what you do, or how hard you try."

Maro looked at Varnado, but the man wouldn't make eye contact. His gaze was still locked on the street, a frown playing at his lips. "No one can understand her, because there is nothing to understand. I realized that when she first entered our shop. She's a lady. And she has a brain. To wrap it all up, she's a Flyte. She's not a woman, Rufus. She's a tool. She's her father's little tool, and she'll be that until she has her heart finally grow as black as old man Auberon's."

"I… I don't understand."

"It's because you're simple. You're trusting, and you see the good in people. You're the kind of person a woman like Flyte will play like a fiddle. Tell me, Rufus, why do you think she associates with you?" Varnado asked, now looking at the Imperial.

Maro opened his mouth, but couldn't form a single sentence. Varnado shook his head, and let a smirk of pity cross his face. "At last, you're starting to see. Rufus, you're just a resource to her. And I know you've been giving her info on Servius. And because you provide her with valuable; hell, _essential_ information, she humors you with smiles and well crafted words."

Varnado sat down on the bench. "Listen, Rufus. You're an okay guy, honestly. And that's why I'm telling you, _don't _speak with that woman. She's just going to use you, and crush you. And besides, she'll rope you into the most dangerous game there is. You shouldn't play around with politics. It's too big, and too dangerous, for you. Just forget her and return to the shop. I'm sure you'll meet another woman you fancy."

Maro set his palms against the stone. "… So, that's it. She was using me?"

"Her eyes, Maro. For one second, she let down her guard. For one second, she was human. And she covered it back up faster than a beggar asking for a coin. She'll never let you see the real her. And why bother dealing with a woman who is a colossal lie?"

"But why? I mean, why do it like that?"

"Because people who have hearts lose the crown game, that's why. People who have hearts do stupid things. They refuse to connect, they…" Varnado stopped his words and spent a moment choosing them. "… If she went about being human, it would interfere with her work. And she'll keep up the façade until she starts to forget where she is and where the mask is. And eventually they'll blend until emotion becomes solely a tool. And that'll be it. You can't save her, because she'll refuse to be saved. Understand?"

Maro stood up. His face was a little less bright, and his posture a little more hunched. "We should go back to the store."

"We should."

And so the owners of The Best Defense left the area and walked back to their shop. For Maro, despite the crowds of people about him, his only real company was the autumn winds, the obsessive memory of the woman in blue.

* * *

Erasmus Servius dined in his tent, deep within the treacherous depths of the Black Marsh. He was not afraid, though. He knew these jungles just as well as he knew his native Anticlere, 

perhaps even better. He knew which snakes that would occasionally slither across the ground of his pavilion were poisonous and which were not. He knew which of the buzzing insects was most likely to carry a horrible, incurable disease. He knew where to pitch up camp, where toxic fumes didn't carry. But this didn't interest the general at all. It was all commonplace, everyday occurrences. What did interest him was that for the first time in recent memory, he was dining with a guest.

He sat at a finely crafted table, eating some swamp creature with silvery cutlery and fine linens. His face was relaxed, void of his normal features contorted in scheming and pondering. Sitting across from him was a pitiful young girl. Her red hair was greasy and unkempt, her skin was pale and clammy, and her eyes were sunken and darting. She had curled her leg up onto her chair and was holding them, like a ball, and made absolutely no effort to eat the liberal meal set out before her. Her weak frame trembled and shivered uncontrollably as though she was frightfully cold. Servius, for his part, continued to eat his meal as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He eventually picked up a wine glass and extended it to her. "A little red, my dear?" he asked with a poison dipped smile.

The girl made a frightened squeak and curled up closer into her ball. Servius chuckled. "Suit yourself, honored guest…" he muttered, downing the rest of the wine.

At that moment, Servius heard the clicking of boots at his door. "Enter," he said, looking over his shoulder.

His second in command walked into the tent and offered a respectful salute. "Sir," she began, "Scouts report that Guard Captain Hieronymus Lex was seen crossing into the Valus mountains."

"Lex?" replied Servius in surprise. "What does he hope to accomplish? No, I'm not worried about that, Cassandra, I'm capable of handling this situation. Lex can't match our speed, not at all."

"I know," she replied, "And I don't wish to bother you, but… I also have a question, sir."

Servius set his napkin aside and stood up, ignoring the trembling wreck across the table. "We've fought alongside each other for over a decade. You don't need my permission to ask a simple question."

His aide thought for a moment before beginning. "Sir, some of the men… There are rumors that you're going to lead a detachment into Murkwood."

"That is true."

"Sir, with all due respect," she said, keeping the suspicion clear from her voice, "Last time a detachment went into Murkwood they were annihilated. Not even the root people go into that deathtrap. I trust you, general, but… I wonder what could be so important in there that you would risk the lives of so many, including your own, to discover it."

Servius smiled and shook his head. "I'd normally tell you," he began sincerely, "But I shouldn't be talking about it out loud. Just know this. It is of the utmost importance to our goals. The task in question offers benefits that far outweigh the risks. If you really need to know more, I suppose you could view it as a form of… Insurance."

"Insurance?"

"Yes," said Servius, leaning back on the table, "I'm not so foolish as to think that my bid is assured. Lex lacks the guile to really have any shot at the crown, but I worry about Civello. You just know he's the old man's puppet. There's also Helseth and Barenziah, both of whom have deep, ever turning minds. And finally, that Flyte girl means that my dear master Auberon must be keeping tabs on me, which doesn't bode well."

"So, those are our three biggest threats?"

"They are our most obvious, by any means."

His aide nodded, saluted and turned. Before she left the tent, however, she turned back to the general. His one eye was closed in thought, and his ragged features had the look of a man who was very nervous, yet too noble to show it. "General," she said, with only the slightest amount of hesitation.

"Yes?" Servius responded, looking up.

Cassandra saluted again. "Sir, I truly believe that you are the best and greatest man for this undertaking. All of us do."

Servius gave a half smile. "I'm glad you're supportive," he said slowly, yet not betraying the fact that he was weighing his words, "I'm going to have to call upon all of your great strengths in these times ahead."

"Sir!" she replied, and then left his tent.

Servius turned and looked at a different table on the other end of the tent. On it was that stand for a small, spherical object; still vacant and unused. He walked to the other table slowly, the light from the few candles he had lit getting caught in the shallow crags of his face. His eye coolly looked over the stand, and he reached out his hand as though he were to touch it. At the last moment, he pulled back, and then shook his head. "Soon, yes… It's not too much longer now… Soon, justice will be served."

He turned back and returned to his meal. He ate with a soft, reflective smile, which was not shared by his dining companion, who rocked back and forth muttering to herself, with absolute horror dwelling within her eyes.

* * *

Marcus Agrippa controlled the drug scene on the Waterfront with an iron fist. Ever since he hit puberty he spent his time learning the insides and outsides of the skooma trade, from knowing which guard captains would take smaller bribes to figuring out new ways to smuggle in moon sugar. Of course, with Hieronymus Lex out of the equation, getting skooma into the city was no longer so problematic. He thought that the post-Lex era would be smooth sailing. Unfortunately, life never seems to be as easy as one assumes it will be.

He was currently awaiting a visitor in his rather small chambers. Agrippa usually didn't care much about his appearance. A constant reliance on skooma had aged him well beyond his years, makings his eyes listless, his skin jaundiced, and his teeth utterly rotten. Yet his clothes were uncharacteristically well kept tonight, and his thinning hair was combed as well as it could be. His left leg twitched nervously as he glanced out the window, tracking the progress of the moon over the midnight sky.

The addict's head was turned though as he saw the door to his tiny room open and a figure clad in a black robe slip through the door. The man was exactly on time. He was always exactly on time. Agrippa stood up with a weak, frightened smile and offered his shaking hand to the newcomer. "W-Well met again. Can I offer you some-"

The black cloaked man held up his hand. His face was invisible from behind his hood, but Agrippa felt the distinct air that the man had even less patience than he normally had. That was, incidentally, next to none. "Marcus Agrippa," the man said in a voice as cold as a winter night, "We supplied you with three crates of product. Did you sell them all?"

The dealer sat back down in his chair, watching his companion as if he would spring at him like a jungle beast. "Of course I did. I had to go to the Elven Gardens, though, and hawk a little there-"

"Irrelevant," the figure interrupted, "However, We are pleased with the spread of the product. It is going according to the Master's schedule. Is the Imperial Guard unaware?"

"Yeah, they are. It doesn't matter much, though. You can bribe the lot of them if they caught wind, except for maybe Hayne. And Lex is out of the City again, so we don't need to worry about him anymore."

"Satisfactory. However, the problem larger than the guard is the Guild. Have they been alerted?"

Agrippa shook his head. "No. They know about the stuff, of course. Who hasn't? But I spoke to one of their experts in this sort of work. Apparently she's still oblivious to the source of the Fel-"

"Product," the hooded man interjected.

"… Ah, of course. She's oblivious to the source of the product. And if she's in the dark, it means the Guild is in the dark. When they finally realize what's really going on, it'll be far too late for them. Hell, with some of the people I've hooked on the stuff, I wouldn't be surprised if they cut back on their operations a bit."

"You can not allow them to trace it back to us."

"Yeah, I know, you said that before-"

The hooded figure held up his hand and leaned over towards Agrippa. The dealer fidgeted as he felt a blow of cold, dry air pass in from his window, whistling like a phantom. "You can _not _allow them to trace it back to us."

"I understand," said Agrippa, his spirit visibly broken, "I'll be sure to keep the Guild's nose out of it."

"You _will,_" replied the man, "And in exchange you will become very wealthy. We have left several more crates of product at the usual drop-off point. I will return at this hour in exactly two weeks."

He stood and left Agrippa's room, and the Imperial breathed a sigh of relief. He stood up and shuffled over to the table near his bed, and took a hearty swig of a dusty wine bottle. Setting the wine bottle down, he allowed himself to look up at the ceiling. "Perhaps it's not moral," he muttered to himself, "But I can't argue with the drakes…"

Still completely in his clothes, he threw his one thin, dingy sheet over him and tried to get some sleep, totally unaware of the silted eyes near his window, watching him in the night…

* * *

Hieronymus Lex thought, for one moment, that when he entered the VIIth Legion's encampment that he had walked into some horrible nightmare. But then the smell that hit him was so foul, any delusions he had of inheriting a decent, orderly legion were permanently swept away. The main drag of the camp was littered with garbage and laundry which had fallen off clotheslines which were linked from tent to tent. Stray dogs barked down the alleyways of tents, and all the guard posts were unmanned. Lex felt sick due to the catastrophe of the lack of professionalism. Sigrdríf had a small, thoughtful frown of her face. "They broke out the mead. Fools. I told them no mead tonight."

The general sighed. "Well, no use worrying about it now. The damage has been done. Step lively, please."

The three guardsmen followed Sigrdríf down the path. Lex in particular was in a state of shock at the camp. Litter was built up between the dwellings, pools of standing water so fetid that ice couldn't form dotted the road, and the warbling notes of a song involving a woman whose skirt just couldn't stay down rang through the night. The imperator felt himself raise his shoulders as if he turtleing himself in his armor, a natural response to the total lack of familiarity and comfort. "Now normally," Sigrdríf began, her crisp, confidant voice seeming to cut through the gloom, "I run a tighter ship. But these men, they're hell on the battlefield, but they're not so hot at maintaining camp. But don't think that makes them a poor legion. This is one of the oldest, tracing its proud history back to the War of the Red Diamond, where the VIIth was the only legion from Skyrim to remain loyal to the empire. And _I _can trace _my _lineage back to Keld Horizon-Seeker, one of the greatest wielders of the _thu'um, _and I carry on his proud legacy."

"That's impossible," interjected Kirania, hopping over a brown puddle, "There hasn't been a real Tongue in over four centuries."

"Mind your own tongue, Kirania," said Lex curtly, "General Sigrdríf holds seniority here, and you'll treat her with respect."

"Yes, sir…"

Sigrdríf smirked, "Well, well. Imperator, I'm impressed. I've seen little fireball elves like her before, and it takes quite a man to tame them. Regardless, I can quite assure you that my skills are real," she said, holding her head high, "And finally, you don't need to bother with formalities, Imperator. I'm just Sigrdríf to my superiors. That's how this legion does business."

"It's not how I do it, however, general," Lex replied quickly.

Instead of taking offence, Sigrdríf's grin grew slightly. "As you wish, Imperator Lex. Ah, but enough talk. We're almost to our destination."

Lex and his companions had nearly reached the center of the camp, which was marked by a large tent, the biggest structure in the area, made primarily from hides. He could hear a large racket coming from the building, and perhaps it was a trick of the light, but he could swear that the thin walls were moving. Guilliam frowned while he looked at the odd, shaking tent. "Cap'n, why is that…?"

Lex honestly had no answer. Sigrdríf smiled and shook her head. "Mead in the mess hall. I swear, sometimes I don't know what to do with these fools."

The general entered the hall through a small flap in the door, and the guardsmen followed. Lex was almost put into a state of shock at what he found inside. Nearly every square inch of the tent had some grown Nord man in it, all undertaking tasks which were unquestionably outside of protocol. Shouts, songs, and curses blended together into a cacophony that made the imperator's head throb immediately after setting foot inside the threshold, which happened to fall into a rather large spill of something golden and sticky. Near the center of the room was a large table where dozens of soldiers engaged in a drinking contest, the contents of their mugs emitting an unbearably sweet scent. In one corner of the hall were a group of men playing dice, and Lex heard what he thought was the sounds of cockfighting across from the other side of the tent. Sigrdríf said something unintelligible; but Lex didn't notice. He walked foreword as though in a daze, the signature _tak _of his boots absorbed in the filth of the ground. His pace was interrupted by a frightened young woman who ran across his path, who was promptly followed by a drooling, toothless elderly man. The imperator, who had dealt with pirates, highbinders, and even a vampire in his career, had never had this mixed feeling of nausea and disbelief. Behind him, he vaguely made out Sigrdríf yell out, "Quiet!", although it was no louder than a whisper in the great hall.

No response. Lex took a step backwards and glanced at Sigrdríf, who herself looked slightly vexed. She once again yelled, "Silence!", and once again there was no response.

Lex looked at the general, who was now rather angry. She looked at him and said something that was lost over the din. Before Lex could ask what she said, Sigrdríf did something which Lex would never quite forget for the rest of his life. The general changed her footing, putting her center of gravity squarely in her stomach. While the imperator raised a brow she started inhaling, although in a fashion Lex had never seen before. There was a long sucking sound, like a siphon, and Sigrdríf's chest started to bulge out, and Lex noticed that her armor must have been specially designed to be able to move with her body like that. He opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing, but couldn't find the words for the life of him. After about twenty seconds Sigrdríf had finished breathing in, and Lex suddenly had a feeling of mounting dread. It was far too late, however, and he barely had time to slack his jaw when the Nord opened her mouth out and hollered a, "_**SILENCE!**_"; unquestionably the loudest thing he had heard in his entire life.

Dozens of odd, conflicting sensations flooded into Lex at a thundering pace. It was as if every pore in his body had suddenly contracted and loosened, his vision was blurred, and he could've sworn that his very bones were shaking. He tapped into all his internal stores of fortitude and willpower to remain standing, unlike his younger companions who were both now prone on the floor, clenching their ears. Sigrdríf's bellow had certainly had its intended effect, though. A shimmering burst of sonic force flew directly into the table where the drinking contest was taking place, overturning the table as well as all the men sitting at it and threw dozens of mugs of mead skyward into the air. The tent shook with the great the great sound, and nearly all of the soldiers collapsed and were clawing at their ears. Lex glanced at Sigrdríf, and couldn't tell if she was breathing heavily due to the exertion or the great amount of anger etched into her features. She allowed the poor souls who heard the noise to regain their hearing before she began to speak. "Look at you, you mangy, dirty, good-for-nothing, idiotic, inbred, ugly, unmanly, sorry-sack excuses for warriors! I gave one, single order, easy enough for a blasted Wood Elf to follow, and you all decide to go against it? Do you know who the hell you are? I swear, your entire lot is one blasted well of shame that I've got to bare. Don't think there won't be any consequences for your damned fool actions here, too!"

Sigrdríf pointed at Lex, still in her fury. "Do you know who this is? This here is Imperator Hieronymus Lex. He is one of the highest ranking officers in the Imperial Legion. And now he has had the distinct misfortune of seeing our pathetic lot, you scurvy, bow-legged, pathetic, elf-kissing, flatfooted, beardless ingrates! This man you will treat with all the respect you give onto me- more even, seeing as you haven't the decency to follow one single order! And if any of you, _any _of you show the imperator this sort of impudence, it'll be _froskaal _for them!"

The crowd was dead silent. The fair-faced general was able to keep the dozens upon dozens of huge, drunk, angry berserkers in line with her own rage alone, and for yet another time during the past twenty-four hours, Lex felt thoroughly out of the loop. Sigrdríf sighed and shook her long, blond hair about. "However… There is more to tonight than mead, and that's why I have an important announcement to make to you all. You see, the empire is in turmoil. Dangerous usurpers raise armies to crush the order and prosperity that we give to Skyrim. Every citizen of the empire counts on us, the legions, to protect them from the dangers of the beastfolks, and worse, the elves," she spat, hatred evident in the word. "And the elves of the hour are the black ones to the east. I hate the Dunmer. My father hated them too, and that was before they killed his bride. They've despised us for generations, and now are conspiring to tear down the civilization that the empire provides to all of us. And you know what? I'm not just going to sit back and let this happen."

Sigrdríf gestured to Lex. "And this is where the imperator comes in. He's come from the Imperial City to provide leadership and invoke courage in our new campaign. That's why we're camped out here. The Dunmer have enjoyed their lawless reign of terror for far too long. That's right boys," she said, a vicious smile spreading across her face, "We're heading to war."

There was a stunned silence for a few moments. Lex narrowed his eyes in the nearly palatable silence until one Nord, bald and with a bear claw tattoo on his face, stood up and screamed in jubilation. Suddenly, every other Nord was on their feet, yelling at the top of their lungs, save their now laughing general. Lex once again lost his hearing, but noticed that Sigrdríf was gesturing for him to leave the tent. He was very eager to comply.

The four left the tent, which was now far louder than it was when they entered, and breathed in the cold, dry air. Sigrdríf was still laughing from the display. "I swear, for all their manly grandstanding, they're like children! They're going to feast with twice the ferocity now than before and all after I gave them that large speech on following orders! Honestly, I'm glad they function better on the battlefield than they do here, or we'd have a difficult situation on our hands!"

Lex, having regained both his hearing and composure, tried as hard as humanly possible to appear nonchalant, which was difficult after watching a rather attractive woman subdue a huge amount of warriors with her voice alone. "Do you have a tent reserved for me and my companions?"

Sigrdríf nodded. "But of course, imperator. Your pavilion is down that stretch of road, and there is a spare for the children. My own pavilion is down the opposite way, and if you can fit it into your schedule, I would find it valuable to speak with you later tonight."

"Of course."

"Excellent," Sigrdríf said beaming, "Then I will see you then. Continue to seek the horizon, imperator."

Before she could leave though, Guilliam ventured a question. "Excuse me, general?"

"Yes?" she quickly replied.

"Um… What you said in there…" he began sheepishly, '"What is that _froskaal _thing?"

Sigrdríf blinked once before she came to a realization. "Oh, _that. _Don't worry, boy. That was an empty threat. I really don't do that punishment anymore. Not after the last time; the damn fool nearly froze off his feet. They're dumb, those guys, but it's not worth crippling them over it"

With a trilling laugh she then walked through the shadowy camp down the road, quickly vanishing into the whiteness the recently falling snow was starting to provide. Guilliam huddled himself together best he could in his chain armor (Lex was unsure if it was in coldness or fear), mumbled a rather small, "Cap'n…", and moved towards Lex's lodgings.

Lex closed his eyes and breathed in, the frigid air like needles in his throat. Opening his eyes, he realized that Kirania was still standing nearby, looking rather unhappy. "Is there a problem, guardswoman?" he asked.

"None, sir," she replied slightly snappily.

Lex raised a brow, and action, that if kept up, would cause that brow to become quite sore in the future. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm turning in, captain. Or 'imperator', is it?" she said, her lack of patience clear from her tone.

Lex thought for a moment, but chose not to press the matter. "… Dismissed, then."

"Sir," she replied, and trudged through the snow, following Guilliam to their tent.

Lex watched her as she vanished and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was in the bitter cold, in command of a disorderly ramble of Nords, expected to conquer a country, all in the name of becoming emperor. He spent a moment in reflection, trying to comprehend how this whole situation could've come about. But he only spent a moment. He was an imperator, after all, and he did have a difficult task set before him. And so without wasting another one of his precious moments of time he set foreword, towards both his duty and his destiny.


	18. The Crime and the Criminal

"You _lied _to her!"

Agrippa flinched as he felt his body being pushed violently into the cold stone walls of the waterfront. "Please, kitten, let me-"

"You _lied _to her! _Lied!_"

Once again, his skooma-atrophied body was thrust into the wall. In front of him, gripping at the filthy rags he wore, was a much smaller Khajiit, whose aging eyes still held all the fire and anger of a thief half her age. Agrippa coughed as he tried to string a sentence together. "Habasi, please, just let me-" he sputtered, before being thrown into the wall a third time.

"You are a _liar! _You lied to the Guild! You lied to _Habasi!" _the thief hissed to the dealer.

Agrippa gave a hacking cough. "W-What are you talking about? I didn't lie about any-augh!"

Habasi shoved him into the wall again, his head making loud thump as it ricocheted against the smooth sides of the stone. His dizzy gaze made out the bared teeth of his old acquaintance, and his ears her furious voice. "You told Habasi that you didn't know about the felshine! You told her that you didn't know where it came from! But last night you told the man in black that _you _were selling it! You work for him! You _lied _to her!"

As the words were spoken, horror dawned on Agrippa's withered face. "Y-You heard that? You saw the meeting?"

"All of it!"

"Oh no," he muttered, fear now plastered over his features. "Oh no, no, no. By Azura, you shouldn't've seen that. Oh, no, no-"

"Get a hold of yourself!" Habasi hissed, bringing her face closer to his. "Now, you will give her answers! You will! Who is making the felshine?"

"Oh, kitten," he breathed in terror, "I can't tell you that-"

"Who!?"

"Kitten, I can't say! They'll kill me!"

"Habasi will kill you if you don't tell her!" she hissed, "Who makes the felshine!?"

"Kitten, please," he sobbed, "they'll _kill _me!"

"_Tell_!" she all but howled at him.

"I don't want to die!" the wretched man cried out.

Habasi had enough. Bearing her claws, she scraped her paw over Agrippa's face, leaving three bloody lines trailing across it. He writhed in pain as Habasi increased the force that she was using to push him against the wall. "You will tell Habasi," she said slowly, "Or she will kill you faster than 'they' will. Talk."

Agrippa was in a pathetic state. His cloudy eyes were watering, and his breath quivered at the break of tears. "I… I-I don't know who they are. They showed up… Several months ago. About the same time the Champion went missing for awhile, when they say the madness struck. It was a brand new mixture, more addictive than anything else I had ever come across… It was the same man who came, always at the same time. H-He wears this cloak, so I could never see his face. And he was paying a huge amount of money if I just obeyed the simple r-rules."

"What rules? Tell!"Agrippa trembled for a few moments before he responded. "I… I was to distribute it in phases. First to sell it to the poor, the skooma-ridden, the unimportant. I'm far past that. Next was the Guild, to get a good percentage addicted to the stuff."

Habasi's eyes narrowed. "Addicted?"

"Y-Yes… I was eventually supposed to bring it to the Elven Gardens, and give it to young noblemen. I don't know why, don't ask! They just told me to! That's all they ever told me! Other than that, they just demanded results, and were willing to pay b-big!"

Habasi growled and tossed the dealer onto the ground. She turned away from him and closed her eyes. "These cloaked people are actively trying to harm the Guild," she muttered, more to herself than the Imperial who was huddled in a messy pile, "And they're even trying to strike the nobles with the felshine… Is that all Agrippa knows?" she finished, raising her voice so that he could hear.

"Yes, yes, oh gods, yes," he spluttered, "That's all. Oh, kitten, you've got to leave here. These people are serious. You have no idea. I think they might actually make the stuff, kitten, and look what it's done to people!"

"The huntress' name is Habasi, not kitten," the thief muttered indignantly, "And she must find this cloaked man. Where is his den?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea. He has an odd accent, though. I couldn't peg it. Try an area with a lot of out of towners."

"Understood. Habasi is leaving, and she is giving you time to leave the City," the Khajiit said, not bothering to turn around and look at the man, "But Agrippa should remember that if he even thinks about selling more felshine, she can not let him slide without punishment."

"N-Never again, Habasi," Agrippa begged, "I learned my lesson. Please, don't tell the superiors, or anything."

Habasi merely made a face at the man's words. "Pathetic," she snorted, then hopped up to a nearby crate. A few strategic jumps later and she was on the roofs of the buildings, away from the shell of a man she was dealing with.

Her feline eyes scanned the surrounding areas. Agrippa was a fool. No plot would rely on him as the sole provider, especially one working with such an… Engineered product like felshine. There was obviously more of the stuff in the city, she realized, but she needed to ferret it out first. And with the drug addicting more and more of the Guild's agents every day, she knew she needed to move quickly. So without further delay she starting running across the frigid sleet rock, drinking in her surroundings, and contemplating the situation which was now far more complex than she originally gave it credit for.

* * *

Giovanni Civello's secretary entered the commander's stately office early in the morning and was unsurprised to see his employer still at his desk. The legion commander never slept much, usually operating with about three hours a night. Still, he had to cut into that paltry amount due to the oppressive amount of work he had to take on regarding the new revolutionary crisis. However, what did surprise the secretary was that instead of being buried in work, Civello was looking at one of his large pastries thoughtfully, his eyes only half-open, as though he was idly pondering or musing. This was uncharacteristic, to say the least, even more so given the news he had been delivered last night.

The secretary walked over and set a sheet of parchment on Civello's desk. The fat commander rolled his beady eyes from his breakfast to the document which was, to his disappointment but not his surprise, the newest issue of the Black Horse Courier. It was not going to be positive.

_SPECIAL EDITION!_

_ROGUE PROVINCES SIGN TRILATERAL PACT! COMMANDER CIVELLO SHAMED!_

_Just when you thought that the arrogance of the rebels could grow no more reprehensible, they always find a way to up the ante. During a formal ceremony Sundas evening, the rogue provinces of Morrowind, Sentinel, and the Altmeri Dominium signed what they have called the "Trilateral Pact". On board the flagship of the Sentinel fleet, representatives of the three perfidious traitor states created the illegal organization they have dubbed the Tamriel Union. Each member promises to lend military aid to one another in times of need, develop new trade routes unregulated by the imperium, and promote the "self-determination" of all treaty signing organizations._

_Chairman Ocato of the Elder Council has vocally expressed his views of the "Blatant treason and avarice" of the signing, as has the Kings of Wayrest and Daggerfall, as well as the newly reconvened tribal council of Valenwood. Legion Commander Giovanni Civello has not given any formal statement at this time. _

_This pact comes at a difficult time for the Empire's war efforts. "The legions are stretched out very thin," states General Erasmus Servius of the XIIth Legion and candidate for emperor from his base camp in the Black Marsh, "We've got the troops fighting a war of attrition in Morrowind on the one hand, and the entire western half of the Empire is either having to send their troops now to counter the battles between Wayrest and Sentinel, as well as those of Daggerfall and the Dominuim. Unless something drastic happens in the war effort, I'm not sure if we're going to see any real progress until at least 440." The general added, "I personally blame Commander Civello."_

_Indeed, the Legion Commander's policies have been attacked by other leaders other than General Servius. "I'm not sure if I've ever seen such ineptitude from any sort of commissioned officer, let alone the legion commander," states the rightful King of Mournhold, Helseth Hlaalu. "He has been very hesitant to redeploy any of the recalled legions, which has started this whole mess in the first place. The gall he shows to the Imperial people by not stepping down and letting a rational man take his post is nearly unbelievable." _

_Commander Civello's public statements have been slowly dwindling, and many of his former defenders are starting to lose their faith and credit in his abilities. However, the Elder Council has made it clear that they are going to continue their support for the floundering public figure. How much longer this is going to continue, as well as the bearing this holds for his endorsee, Guard Captain Hieronymus Lex, is as of yet unknown._

_While the so called "Tamriel Union" might have its sights set on shattering the peace and stability of the empire, all good citizens should rest assured that these uprisings will not go unpunished. Remember to support the Dragon, and keep vigilant for individuals who seem to have less than patriotic goals. _

Civello read the parchment and shook his head. "They went out of my way to criticize me. Helseth must be funding the Courier now. There's no other way. Send over a man to keep an eye on the papers, and make sure that we tell them the virtues of… Honest journalism."

The secretary gave a large bow. "Of course, commander."

"Just be sure that you don't make it seem like we're infringing on freedom of speech. I'll be damned if that pack of lies starts printing that I'm doing that as well," Civello said with a sigh.

With a groan, he pushed his girth up from his desk and walked over to the nearby window. The morning sun's delicate rays filtered through the stained glass, exaggerating the aging man's already ruddy face. But his features were different today than they normally were. There was a complete lack of the normal air of jocularity, having been replaced with lines and creases of worry and contemplation. Civello's secretary had worked for the man long enough to know what he needed to do. "Is there something on your mind, sire?" he inquired, stroking his waxed mustache.

Civello didn't immediately respond. He still held his pastry in his hand, which he turned his attention to. After a solid minute of silence, the man spoke. "It's very queer. I've had you deliver me the same breakfast every day since I made captain. From the same baker, from the same bakery. And I just noticed something," he muttered, as though he wasn't sure about what he was about to say, "But this particular roll… It's been frosted the same way every time I've received it, every single time."

Another moment of silence passed. Civello thought nothing of it; however, his secretary was less comfortable with his employer's important observations during the course of a war. "… The… Same frosting, you say?" he managed after a moment of weighing his words.

Civello stared at the secretary, had a flash of realization, and gave a tired laugh. "Ah, forgive me; I must sound like I fool. No, it's just… Look at it. It seems so… Chaotic. The icing looks like it was just haphazardly slopped on. As if it were a total accident, or just a unique creation of the baker… And yet, there is an order to the madness. This odd, unpredictable layer of sugar is actually due to technique, not chance. Indeed, the odds of it being chance are…"

Civello tossed the parcel of food in the air and caught it. He turned around slowly and paced towards his desk. "I found it so curious that something so seemingly random and distinct could be so… Controlled. Tell me, something. Haven't these last few months been… Odd?"

The secretary shrugged, "Sire, everything about this last year has been odd."

"No, no. Don't brush it off," Civello said quickly, "Think, here. I need you to think. Since summer left, we've had three provinces rebel on us. Morrowind, of course, was inevitable. We all knew that. But the Summersets? Altmeri culture was dwindling, not becoming entrenched. Sentinel? What possible reason could they have for breaking off from us, and throw the Iliac Bay right into war again? Why would those two provinces revolt, and even more strange, to do so without really contacting one another beforehand? It seems downright spontaneous at best, idiotically impulsive the other way round…"

"You don't mean to imply that these states were conspiring beforehand, do you?"

Civello frowned and shook his head. "Three distinct cultural groups, all of which located far from each other. All three rebel at the same time, during the middle of this blasted vegetable plague, no less. We've had usurpers and traitor-kings before, but they were small, local uprisings, with no real threat to long-term stability. I worry what the future will hold if…"

The commander frowned and took a bite from the pastry. "Whatever is the cause of these conflicts, it is something to worry about another time. Report on the status of our troops in the bay," the aging man ordered, his tone returning to a businesslike state.

The secretary smiled. This was the Civello he knew well. "Very well, Commander Civello. I'll start with the XXIst…"

* * *

Hieronymus Lex entered Sigrdríf Battle-Singer's tent to find the general at her desk at the far end of the chambers, reading a sheet of parchment while sipping something from a wooden tankard. Glancing at his surroundings, he noticed that nearly everything was made out of wood, and crafted in a style that was alien to him. Trophies from dead monsters sat on shelves, many of them looking rather old. Indeed, it seemed as though ever other thing in the room was some sort of heirloom, all of which, from an odd blue severed arm to a shattered battleaxe, were all stereotypically Nordic. Sigrdríf noticed him and offered a smile. "Imperator Lex. Good to see you. I take it your accommodations are to your liking? They're nothing extravagant, but I assume that is no problem for you?"

Lex fought off the urge to immediately stand at attention. No matter how many times he was called imperator, the rank still hadn't sunk in. "Yes, they're very adequate," he said, allowing himself another glance about the room. "What exactly was it that you wanted to talk about?"

Sigrdríf set down her drink. "I just wanted to speak to you, imperator. I find that I work best if I know something about my commanding officer. I was actually just looking over your record. It's better than I thought it would be," she said, standing up and looking over the sheet, "When Civello sent me word that his pet project was going to use this legion to attack Morrowind, I had my worries. Most of the boys that come from the city, like those who do the yearly inspections, are fools. Green and spoiled, the lot of them. I thought that Civello had gotten someone like that. But no, your record has some spice to it. Is it true you really fought a vampire?"

"Yes. Is this relevant to our mission?" Lex asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Oh, yes," replied Sigrdríf with a smile, "I like to know what kind of combat experience you've had. You're going to need plenty to survive these coming days. Tell me, have you ever fought a Dunmer before?"

"No."

"Really? Well, then, you'd better get practice. Grab a sword, imperator," she said gesturing to a weapons rack near one end of the room.

Lex took a step back in surprise. "What?"

Sigrdríf chuckled to herself and walked over to the rack. "Listen to me, if you cross blades with a dark elf noble, clad in a full set of ebony armor, shaking one of their dai-katanas at you, what are you going to do? I can hardly think of a more deadly opponent." she said, picking out a broadsword and tossing it to the imperator.

Lex was able to catch the blade. "I assumed I'd be in the back of the legions, away from the fray."

"Rule one is to never make assumptions, Imperator," said Sigrdríf, picking out a huge, curved sword, nearly the size of her own body, "If you start assuming that you're going to be safe once you've enlisted, you're asking to get killed. A safe bet is to always assume the absolute worst. That way you'll never be at a loss."

The Imperial watched the Nord take a few practice swings of the massive blade as she walked to one corner of the room while he got used to the weight of his own weapon. "I normally wield a sword larger than this."

Sigrdríf smiled and shook her head. "Once again, Lex, you're making the assumption that you'll have your normal weapon on the battlefield. Thinking like that will make you wind up dead," she said, bringing her exotic blade parallel to the ground. "Now, imperator, on your guard!"

Lex blinked once. When his eyes were first open, the general was standing thirty feet away from him. Upon their closing and reopening, she had closed half that distance. His blood ran cold as his adrenaline rushed through his veins. His body went into overdrive as she moved illogically fast, his own shorter weapon barely parrying the first swing of her monstrous edge. "Not bad, imperator!" she said, clearly enjoying herself, "What about this?"

She launched three more quick slices of her sword. It was fast, very fast, causing a whistling sound canceled by a shattering clash when Lex parried. The imperator could hardly make out the blade in the speed of the slices; all he could see were three curving arcs of steel, all blurred into speeding slashes. His arm moved faster than he even knew it could as his sword met Sigrdríf's, the final strike nearly ending unstopped. His opponent laughed once before taking a step back.

She started yet another attack, one which Lex yet again parried at the last second. Instead of recalling the blade, however, she kept the pressure on Lex's defense. "Tell me," she said over the sound of grinding steel, "How _did _Civello rope you into being his little puppet?"

Lex frowned and repulsed her blade. He took a few steps backward to create room and shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

Sigrdríf smiled and pointed the curved sword at Lex. "Was it his deep pockets? Did he tip you off with drakes, or a promotion, or what? From what I've heard, he's the driving force of your candidacy, not you."

Lex lowered his blade. "I'm merely doing my duty. That should be enough-"

His response was cut short as his opponent made a sudden and daring charge, far too fast to counter this time. Lex braced himself, but it was for nothing as Sigrdríf stopped the point of her sword right over his heart. She gave him a cunning grin. "Once again, imperator," she said, noting the shock that had come over him, "You _assumed _that when I stopped to talk our duel would be put on hold. Assumptions, imperator, are the enemy. You'd do best to cast all of them aside now."

She took the sword from Lex's hand quickly and walked back to the rack she originally got them from. "I hope to show you more lessons on how to fight, sir," she said over her shoulder, becoming calmer as her battle-lust dissipated, "Because it'll be paramount to coming out of this struggle alive. And we couldn't let Civello lose his little pawn, now could we?"

Lex frowned. "Why do you speak of the legion commander like that?"

"Why?" Sigrdríf said with a questionable look, "What do you mean, 'why'? You've met the man, haven't you? He's an expert in deception and flattery. Trust me, I of all people should know…" she paused for a moment. "You don't… Trust him, do you?" she said after a moment, highly curious as to the response.

"Of course I do," Lex replied without thinking.

"Well, imperator," Sigrdríf said slowly, her joviality now gone, "I would be careful about assuming that he is the man you think he is. The fat buffoon loves to play games with trust. And like I told you, making assumptions will get you killed in war, and doubly so in politics."

He gave her a skeptical glance "I find myself to be a good judge of character."

"… I certainly hope so, imperator. For your sake. Now," she said, her tone brightening, "It was good to see your abilities, and I would enjoy meeting with you more often. Perhaps we could even discuss more… Personal matters. However, as we march tomorrow, it would be good to take an early end to the evening, wouldn't you agree?"

Lex nodded. "Of course. I'll return to my quarters, then," he said, heading towards the exit.

"Excellent," Sigrdríf said. But before Lex was able to leave, she called out one last time. "Oh, imperator."

"Yes?" Lex said, glancing back at her.

"Be very sure that you chose your allies carefully," she said as she returned to her desk. "You're a much more important man than you were before."

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

Lex's figure disappeared behind the fold of the tent, returning into the cold of the north. Sigrdríf allowed herself a small smile as she finalized the preparations for the coming day's movements. "Hieronymus Lex…" she mused with the hint of the grin, "I think the two of us are going to get along famously."

* * *

_Erasmus,_

_I'm sorry this letter has taken so long to arrive. It's total madness back here. Those gold elfs (Altmer, I think? I really wasnt sure), have landed all over the bay, and I think in the wood elfs' home, to. I'm sure you know that already, but the Courier is only reporting about half the story, like they always do. It's not as bad as the Common Tongue or the Pundit would have you think, but thats not to say it isnt bad._

_Of course, when those elfs landed, old __King Gothryd__ gave a big speech on how easy the war would be. The expeditionary force they tossed out wasnt big, and it was supposed to be simple. Just repel the elfs, then provide aid to Wayrest (Bet you never thought that we would give them aid, eh?) to beat the bloody hell out of the Redguards. Never liked Redguards, personally. Anyway, that was supposed to be the way it worked. But of all things that happen, guess what? Old man Auberon stops the whole war effort flat._

_Daggerfall sends word to all their vassals they got during the Warp telling them to provide the standard amount of troops, just like they did during the Crisis, or when that pirate fleet sprung up. However, as soon as it reaches Anticlere, Auberon ignores the order. He dosnt send a single soldier. And the odd thing is, most of the other states follow his example. I dont know why, or how. Maybe Flyte sent messengers, or maybe the other states are tired of being under Daggerfall's control, but all I know is that most of the armies in Iliac Bay are so busy fighting these war with each other, they really can't assert control over everything they gained during the Warp. Some people in the tavern are already talking of breaking off from Daggerfall and re-asserting independence. The Dragon dosent want that, but frankly, it's as weak as Daggerfall is._

_But I'm not sure whats going to happen. There isnt much reliable news lately. Hell, I have access to the Riech Gradkeep palace and I still dont know the whole story. There are odd things going on. Like this sketchy high elf diplomat who is meeting with Auberon- __the official story is that they're discussing trade. I doubt it, though. Lynette is off at the Imperial City, who I think you met right? Nasty little harpy, her. If shes there, theres got to be a scheme in her head. And there is something else, to. I cant put my finger on it. It's as though… Something else is at play. Maybe it's a conspiracy with the elves. But theres this air here. It feels like it felt before the Warp, or the Crisis._

_And that's how it is back home. I really wish you could come back here. All the old guard in the barracks feels the same way. The wife is fine, and Lyla can walk now. It's really something. You should find yourself a bride, Erasmus. You won't regret it._

_Remember. We all know the treachery of the Flytes. Your men all lie in wait. We all support you. We're willing to fight and die for you. Thats the dream of Riech Gradkeep. Everything is seemingly falling into place for us to strike. It feels like the Divines are on our side. Best of luck, Erasmus, and grab that crown soon._

_Titus _

* * *

Berel Sala had never really lived his life as the voice of reason. Indeed, he was already well known as one of the loudest and most violent critics of the Nerevarine and of House Hlaalu. But his days of bombastically attacking his foes were over. He was younger then. That was before the Crisis. Before Balmora was put to the torch by marauding dremora, resulting in the death of three of the Hlaalu councilmembers. Before the siege of Vivec, where the waters around the cantons literally turned red with blood. Before the battles of Narsis, where Sala alone had the courage to turn the tide of the daedric charge and lead the Dunmer to victory. The war had changed him, quieted him, and had in a way reshaped his spirit.

He was currently kneeling in his tent in contemplation. The room was darkened, and it was already nearly midnight. Fighting the Imperials was like hunting beasts. They were crude marks, unrefined and full of sin, but they also had plenty of cunning and knew how to play a disadvantageous situation at its best. But he would win. The gods were on his side. In his hands was an old, dog-eared copy of _Saryoni's Sermons. _As captain of the Watch, the two butted heads often. But now Sala found a newfound wisdom in the archcanon's eloquent words. "Saryoni…" he muttered, "If only you would've joined us…"

"You know, speaking to yourself is the first sign of insanity."

Sala's eyes widened. In a flash he was on his feet, with a hand on the hilt of his scimitar. "Who's there?" he said into the emptiness. The single candle in his tent didn't allow much light, and the various pieces of furniture left many dark nooks for a stranger to hide. "Reveal yourself!"

A small gust of wind hit the tent, causing the material of the walls to ruffle and shake. But under the gentle noise of the fabric's movements, Sala distinctly heard footsteps at one end of his tent, and the swish of a fabric that certainly wasn't from the room. The ordinator drew his ebony blade, his red eyes darting from to he heard the voice. "Who are you, and by what permission have you come to my quarters?"

There was silence until another gust of wind hit, wherein the voice picked up again. "Heh heh heh… You see, now you're speaking to someone else. I'm happy. It isn't smart to sit in your tent, ranting to no one," said the voice, the words slipping unseen from the shadows.

Sala became more agitated. "You try my patience. Reveal yourself, or I will take action," he projected to the dark room, trying his best to mask his growing nervousness.

"Reveal myself? Why, my lord, I'm right in front of you," said the voice, now seeming much closer.

Sala instinctively took a step backwards and narrowed his eagle eyes. And there standing before him was in fact a black silhouette, nearly invisible in his blackened chambers. It looked to be a hooded man, although it was impossible to make out the race or even basic figures in the poor light. The arms of the stranger parted into what seemed to be a non-threatening embrace. "Captain of the Watch Berel Sala," he said, "This is truly an honor."

Despite the friendly pretext, Sala did not lower his blade. "Who are you," he started, "How did you get in here, and what do you want?"

The figure shrugged its shoulders. "My, there is no room for conversation with men like you. It's normally polite to offer me something. Perhaps some greef? I know that it's your alcohol of choice. Or perhaps you could show me a more cultured side of you, and read me one of those sermons you were so engaged with. It's a beautiful copy, by the way. Printed in Balmora, circa 329. Remarkable shape, for its age."

Sala's face grew into a scowl. "What? How did you…?"

"Oh, but forgive me," the dark man continued, the tone of his voice bemused, "I didn't even answer your questions. And to think I was lecturing you on being polite. Well, as for who I am… I cannot say. People in my profession are loath to give out their names, and I do dislike pseudonyms. So hard to keep track of. But rest assured that you don't really need to know _who _I am in order to do business with me. As for how I got here, I walked. Now for _why _I am here, well, I think I just mentioned it. Business. We have a little of it to discuss, you and I."

This man spoke with a light accent that, despite his toying with words, posed more questions about his origins than answers. The ordinator shook his head at the man and kept the scimitar he held parallel with the ground. "So, human, are you here on Brotherhood business? I do hope your answers keep coming quickly, because I promise you this blade of mine is as sharp as your tongue."

"Human?" the figure said with a laugh, "Please, your worship, don't insult me so. And you even imply that I am an assassin. I'm hurt. Believe me, I do nothing quite that unsavory. No, I come with information. Perhaps an introduction is in order?"

"I would say it is," Sala replied, not lowering his guard for a moment.

"Like I said, who I am is irrelevant. But _what_ I am, now, that is where our interest lies. In your speech, my profession's name is closest to 'agent', although I daresay there is something lost in translation. Regardless, I serve a third party that is very much interested in, and perhaps invested in, your struggle against the empire. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to disclose my employer. Frustrating, I know. But that is what you do need to know. I come bearing gifts, not knives. Indeed, I am far more of a good omen than one of ill."

"Stop speaking in circles," Sala said, his blade aimed at the heart of the stranger, "And tell me what it is you want."

"It is to deliver gifts, muthsera. What I stand to offer you is the most important gift available. Something more vital to you than life itself. Something which has the strength to breathe new life into what you hold most dear."

"You come to offer me witchcraft?" the ordinator said coolly, taking offence at the words.

"Oh, no. I come to offer you information. Knowledge, my dear lord, is the only thing that can save you from the rising dragon. Tell me, 'o great hero, are you familiar with the name Hieronymus Lex?"

"No, I am not."

"Ah, really?" the figure said, still rather amused at the whole state of affairs. "Well, you should be. Lex reminds me of you, in certain ways. You're both young and used to be more firebrand than you were. Both of you are viciously opposed to your respective 'social ills', yours being heresy, his being criminals. But I think the strongest link is that you both hold an unusually strong link to dying concepts like 'honor' and 'loyalty'. Regardless, knowing who Lex is less important than knowing on what he plans to do. He is currently about to lead a Nordic legion across the Valuses, confirming rumors that you no doubt have already heard. Now normally this would be a small concern, but you still haven't quashed Darius' Deathshed yet. To make matters worse for you, Erasmus Servius is also on the move. He's going to swoop in from the south, while your forces are focused on Lex's surprisingly successful legion. If these three generals are allowed to meet, the Morrowind resistance _will _fail," the shadowy man insisted, now pointing at Sala, "And the Empire will once again rule over these lands."

"Those are some large predictions," Sala responded, "But understand if I don't take the word of some shalled stranger as a proper base to plan my strategies." The point of Sala's blade never deviated from his target.

The man shook his head. "Recall that I offer you facts, not predictions. This is not tawdry speculation or hollow portends; this is history. Your failure, Sala, has already been written, far before you made your mistake. It was written far before you were born, and most men live through their lives like you would have, if you had not met me. They are shackled by fate, burdened only to play their parts, as though they were toys. But… For you, this can change. Knowing what I've told you, there is a chance that you can change your fate."

Sala shook his head. "I haven't the vaguest idea of what you speak. You're talking in riddles. If you're here to attempt my life, strike."

The figure sighed deeply, even melodramatically "You're still under the assumption I'm here to harm you? Hardly. Had I wanted to kill you I'd have done so in a fast and quiet manner. No, I'm merely here to tell you that you need to divide your forces and send one south to intercept-"

"And now you still offer me tactical advice?" Sala said, hardly believing his ears, "Begone, before I take measures into my own hands."

"Tell me," replied the figure, unphased, "Do you really think Morrowind can win?"

"What?"

"Morrowind. You are a proud people. A strong people. And, apparently, a very arrogant people. But can you repel the Imperial machine? You have zeal, and patriotism, and righteousness on your side. Heavens, the _gods _are on your side. You deserve to win, but history is never that kind. If you do not do as I say, and divide and conquer the legions, these faceless heathens will reinvade your lands, burn your temples, spit on your shrines, rape your women, and finally paste their culture over yours." he continued, the amused tone of voice totally gone. "You will be nothing more than a province. Like I have said, this is not a guess on my part, it has already been determined. Destiny is in your hands, Sala. Crush Servius and Lex separately, before they can unite. Only then can the Dunmer start to create their new history. You may not trust me, but my words are ironclad, and if you think about them, you'll know their truth."

The cloaked figure turned, but before he could leave Sala asked his final question. "Hold. Tell me, why are you telling me this?"

The figure faced Sala once more. There was a sort of energy coming from it, something Sala had never encountered before. His words, although they denied logic, somehow seemed true to the ordinator. And he who had trained for years to resist witchs' mind games was not easy to mentally ensnare. However, the figure had returned to a genial pose, and with a lightened voice said, "Because, muthsera, my benefactors have quite a bit riding on your victories here. We're very much counting on you. Much is invested in Morrowind's future, and I trust you'll not let us down."

With that, the figure seemed to dissolve, and the still blackness of the room returned. Sala stood there for several moments before he sheathed his blade, and then closed his eyes. "The Cyrodiilic Empire… Do they really have the strength to stop us this far into our struggle?"

Something in the air between the cold winds and the icy laugh of the stranger made Sala know that his fight was still far from over.

* * *

Lex returned to his tent, which was located a small distance away from the main camp. This area was still in the quiet mountains, which, illuminated by moonlight, had a haunting, ethereal effect. There was no more falling snow now, merely the impenetrable still that can only be found in the roof of the world. Lex's tent came slowly into view, the only dash of civilization that marked the desolate landscape of rock and frost, but as he neared his dwelling another figure came into view. A young woman was standing near a cliff of sheet rock, overlooking the grandeur of the Valus mountain. Narrowing his eyes, the Imperial made out that it was Kirania, but not much else. "Guardswoman!" he called out as he approached.

She turned and looked at him. Nearly a minute later of trudging in the snow and Lex was within speaking distance. Kirania had a downcast yet contemplative look on her face, and nodded to her superior officer. "Good evening, imperator," she said softly.

This was the first time Lex could recall seeing her out of uniform. She was clad in a variety of hide layers, presumably to provide some warmth in the bitterly cold heights. "What are you doing out so late at night? We're going to march tomorrow morning and start the decent into Morrowind. You'll need all the sleep you can get."

The Bosmer shook her head and glanced back over the mountains. "It's fine. I'm used to operating with little sleep. Besides, I'm not that tired anyway. Have a good evening, sir," she said with a hint of melancholy, now turning her whole body back towards the view.

Lex thought for a moment, then started to walk to his tent. After he took a few steps, he shook his head, and looked back to the elf behind him. "Listen, guardswoman, if there is a problem, I want you to tell me. This is going to be a long, difficult campaign, and I would prefer it if we could skip any brooding. Is there any problem I can help to solve?"

Kirania glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. "No, sir; not unless you can change how the world thinks."

Lex suddenly remembered how much he hated youth. "Pardon?" he replied, half curious, half exhausted.

"You can't really be surprised, can you imperator? I mean, serving under General Sigrdríf, and all," she said, turning around again to face her superior, "You didn't think I'd be overjoyed working alongside her. And apparently, the rumors surrounding her are all true."

"Guardswoman," Lex said, his voice now taking on a serious edge, "If you'd like to make an accusation about General Sigrdríf, I'd suggest you back it up with evidence."

"Evidence?", Kirania replied with a bitter laugh, "Imperator, you've already heard the evidence. The woman is a blatant racist."

Lex opened his mouth, but he couldn't come up with a response immediately. "W-What?" he managed at last.

"Oh, come now, imperator. Haven't you heard of Sigrdríf Battle-Singer before? She's been interviewed in the _Cyrodiilic Triumph _more than once; you know, the foremost human-centric periodical published? She's a dedicated member of the anti-elf cause, which has been fighting against us since the Heartland High Elves were driven out of your homeland centuries ago," the Bosmer continued matter-of-factly, "Heck, she's been more vocal about it lately, due to a majority of the rebellious provinces are made up primarily of elves. I just never assumed she'd be so blatant about it."

"What do you mean?"

"Weren't you paying attention, sir? She was nearly overjoyed at the prospect if killing elves this evening. I don't know where she gets it from, but this assignment might as well be vacation for her. She'll enjoy herself, being able to spill Dunmer blood…"

"You can't possibly be-"

Kirania shook her head and continued. "But I know what it's like, you know, being an elf in a human world. We comingle well enough when it comes to scholars and merchants, but that's where it all ends. My people the most, I'd say," she continued, nearly accusatorily, "All you humans laugh at us and our odd ways. You paint our green pact as farcical, and our sacred burial rituals as ghoulish. You insult our voices and balk at one of your own for taking one of us as a lover. There's racism in all of you, but at least the majority of you have the decency to cover it," she said, her voice's speed increasing and her repressed anger becoming more clear.

"That isn't true in the least," Lex replied, somewhat offended himself.

"Oh really?" Kirania scoffed again, "What about you, Lex? Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me you harbor no ill will against my kind, or any of the so-called 'beastfolk' as well?"

Lex didn't need a single moment to think. "Of course I don't. All law-abiding citizens of the Empire are equal in my eyes."

Now it was Kirania's turn to be taken aback, not expecting Lex's sudden and honest response. "Are… You're serious, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. The Empire exists on the principles of cooperation and unity. I value you as I value Guilliam."

"Well… That's good for you," Kirania said, now on the defensive, "But that doesn't mean that everyone thinks like you do. How many Bosmer do you know serving on the Elder Council? How many Bosmer generals can you name? How many archmages, how many Factors? It's all Imperials, and maybe a few Altmer thrown in for the name of diversity. Can you name one single other Bosmer who is a member of the Imperial City Guard?"

"No."

"See? You might be open minded-" she suddenly cut herself off and looked Lex in the eyes.

"What? What were you going to say?"

Kirania didn't reply, prompting Lex to continue, "I want to hear what you have to say. You can treat it as an order."

"Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Granted."

"Hieronymus Lex, you're as bad as all of them, in your own way."

A scowl darkened the imperator's face. "Excuse me?"

"You're no racist, but you're not the public servant you fancy yourself to be. You're terrible in your own way. You have this sort of… Fetish for the law. Every damn letter has to be followed in the fullest. You make it so that even the smallest little violation goes as fully punished as humanly possible, and that any action, even if committed for good, has to go punished just because it was outside the rigid boundaries of the-"

"Am I hearing this right?" Lex interrupted, "That a guardsman under me is comparing our mutual profession to _racism-_"

"Don't interrupt me, Lex!" Kirania cut in, now very angry. "You don't understand at all! You don't understand anything! You sit at the top of your ivory tower, looking down on everyone and passing judgment that probably isn't yours to make! You can't comprehend what the people at the bottom go through, Lex! They're poor; they've been crushed by the rules of the system you enforce! And you go about keeping your steely gaze on them, and if anything goes wrong you pounce! You arrest the homeless beggars-"

"Begging on public grounds is illegal-"

"And then you go about collecting taxes on the Waterfront; on people who are so destitute to begin with-"

"Every Imperial citizen is obligated to pay their share of-"

"And afterwards, after some thief steals the taxes under your nose, you respond by increasing the guards on the Waterfront-"

"Criminal activity there had to be suppressed-"

"And then, when you're demoted and thrown out of the city, you don't even learn your damned lesson!" she barked, "You're a little more reserved, a little less eager, but your mind hasn't changed in the least! You're the same man, Lex! Completely blinded by your laws that you go so far as to cripple the people you were supposed to protect with them! Phillida would have never done that!"

Lex clenched his fist in anger. "This is why they don't let Bosmer into the guard. Your type is too-"

He cut himself off as soon as he realized what he was saying, but it was far too late. Kirania was gazing at him with so much hatred and malice that even the seasoned fighter felt a sort of pressure coming off her petit frame. "You see?" she hissed, a tear running down her cheek, "You _see!? _You pretend that you're better than everyone else, and you talk the talk really damn well, too; but when it comes down to it, you're just like _everyone _else! You're just like all the_ rest_!" she ended, nearly in a scream.

Neither spoke, the only sound being Kirania's accusation echoing off the jagged peaks about them; accusing Lex over and over again of what she had judged him to be. The Imperial could find no words, and as Kirania tried to speak, she choked out a muffled sob. Without sparing another moment on Lex she turned towards the tent she shared with Guilliam and ran towards in, trying in vain to mask the onset of her tears.

Lex, for his credit, loosened the grip on his fist. He had no idea how to feel. It was as though he had been punched in the gut, and words failed him to describe the situation. He took in a deep breath of the dagger-like mountain air, finding no solace in it, and after reflecting for a few minutes returned back to his own tent. He pushed the unpleasant feeling he had aside, and tried his hardest not to feel like he did. He was an imperator, and there was work to be done. Yet as he stared at the fabric ceiling of his lodgings in the night, it was hard to bring his mind elsewhere.


	19. History Lesson

"Let's review. Your first offence is possession of skooma, falling under a penalty of five hundred Septems."

"Damn, man, I was jus' holdin' that-"

"Your second offence is failure to reveal an illegal good to a member of the Imperial City Town Guard, falling under a penalty of twenty Septims."

"That's a bunk charge-"

"Your third offence is resisting arrest, falling under a penalty of fifteen Septims."

"That ain't no real-"

"Your fourth offence is the striking of a guardsman, falling under a penalty of five Septems. However, you struck thrice, so the penalty shall be increased to fifteen."

"What the fu-"

"That puts your total fine at five hundred and fifty Septims. Pay the fine, or serve you time."

"What the hell? I don' got five stack! This is bull-"

"Then I hope you rot, criminal scum."

An impoverished criminal was tossed into a dank, dark cell in the Bastion's dungeons. The guard captain who had executed the order gave a self satisfied smirk while he left the compound, strapping his claymore to his back as he entered the sunlight of the outdoors. His eyes squinted due to the sudden change from the dingy blackness to the radiant day, but he did make out a young man, no older than his late teens, run towards him. "I heard that you caught a skooma lord, cap'n! Excellent work!" he enthused, his eyes shimmering with admiration, "If I might say so, sir," he added.

The captain brushed some imaginary dirt from his shoulder. "You may, Guilliam. But didn't I tell you to go and practice your shieldwork?"

"I was, sir," Guilliam replied, reaching into his pack and retrieving a small letter, "But I got this message for you, sir. It's from Anvil, I think."

The young guard handed the letter to the captain. The latter looked over the letter dispassionately before breaking the seal and then began to read it. However, over the course of reading the script, his face turned from featureless to concerned. His mouth grew smaller while his eyes grew wider, continually reading faster and faster. Guilliam took a step back as he saw the captain's fist start shaking in rage, then clenching the letter into a ball with his hands. "This…" the guard captain muttered, "This has to be some sort of mistake!"

"Sir?" Guilliam asked as his superior brushed past him at an unusually brisk pace, walking towards the guard offices. "C-cap'n?" he said again, but received no reply.

The captain was fuming, completely unaware of his surroundings. His fist was still clenched as he hurled open the door to the administrative offices. Inside, he wasted no time navigating the familiar corridors until he came to a small door which had an elderly secretary sitting near it, his gentle features relaxed as he wrote on some parchment. "Ah, Captain Lex," he said, looking up, "It's so good to see you-"

Lex waved his hand to cut off the man while walking to the door, "I'm seeing the commander."

"Oh, no, sir. Commander Phillida is currently- Captain?"

Without listening to the old man, Lex flung the door in front of him, revealing an office he had entered so many times before. Sparsely decorated, this was the chambers of Adamus Phillida, Lex's mentor and friend, as well as Legion Commander of the Empire. The rapidly aging man was visible at his desk with a vexed look on his face, staring down another guest who Lex wasn't acquainted with. Sitting across from Phillida was a massively fat man with a self-satisfied smirk on his doughy face. Lex said nothing as he waited for the commander to finish his conversation, already plotting what he was going to say. Phillida shook his head and made an exasperated gesture with hands. "How can you say that with so much fervor, Captain Civello!? What you did was _totally _out of line with the spirit of the guard-"

"So you say," the elephantine visitor interrupted, "But can you show me where in any regulation I violated policy? I certainly cannot find one."

"That's beside the point!" Phillida responded, now visibly angry, "Even if there isn't anything in the books against it, but there are certain things our organization _does not do._"

"Well, sir," the behemoth replied, rising from his seat, "I'd suggest you put these issues up to committee next time we update the official code of conduct. Until then, sir, with all due respect, I would appreciate it if you didn't accuse me of imaginary trespasses on my actions. Now, I must return to my rounds. Have a pleasant day, sir."

The corpulent man walked away from the table and past Lex as he left. Lex made eye contact with him, and in that moment felt a sort of untrustworthiness radiate from the man. The captain was able to make out an oily smile pour onto the man's face before they passed each other, and was left with a lasting feeling he couldn't immediately classify. However, thoughts on strangers quickly vanished as he looked at the commander in front of him, already deep in his work. "Yes, captain?" the old man asked, "Something I can help you with?"

Lex threw the balled letter on Phillida's desk in response. "Can you explain this, sir?" he said, using quite a bit of effort to keep his voice in check.

Phillida looked at the scrap and sighed. "Sit down, Lex," he muttered, putting a hand to his face.

The younger man didn't sit. "Reassigned? To _Anvil?_"

"It's a promotion, Lex," Phillida began, "You should be flattered to be considered for such a post-"

"As the personal bodyguard to the countess?" Lex replied quickly. "Stuck in the palace, only occasionally taking rounds in the city? I can't _exist _in that sort of job! What can I possibly hope to accomplish?"

"The great honor of serving one of the most distinguished ladies in the Empire-"

Lex suddenly slammed his hand on the table "This is the Gray Fox's doing!" he insisted, "You know as well as I do-!"

"_Enough _with the blasted Fox, Lex!" Phillida interjected, his once-tired regaining its fire.

"S-Sir…" the captain responded, slightly shaken.

"Do you think I want this, Lex?" Phillida started, rising from his seat. "Do you really think it? No. I didn't recommend you for the post, but regardless of what I did, you have it. The countess Umbranox has made her choice, and frankly not even I can overrule it without some very, very compelling counterargument."

"Well, you can think of something, can't you? I'm needed here, sir!" Lex declared, throwing his arms open. "The city needs me!"

"Does it really, Lex?" the commander shot in, now visibly annoyed. "Because if my memory serves me correctly, for the past few months, you've been nothing but trouble. I'll admit, when you first showed me the evidence for the Gray Fox and the Thieves' Guild outside Stacey's cabal out east, I was impressed. I really was. But you've done absolutely nothing to back it up! You collected taxes, stationed guards; and what do we have to show for it? That damn four-pronged heist, which I'm _still _apologizing for. Maybe some time out of the city would be good for you."

Lex was rapidly palling. "But sir, this is my only chance to-"

"Wrong Lex," Phillida interjected again, his voice now more sympathetic, but still utterly unwavering, "You _had _your chance. But when it came down to it, you were either outplayed or fought a phantom enemy. I can't keep a captain who isn't on touch with reality, Hieronymus… Even if I could sway the countess… I cannot. I must put the needs of the city before the needs of you. And I have plenty of work that needs doing, and only so much time to spend consoling you in your melodrama," he finished, the tone of his voice allowing for no room to contest the verdict.

Lex's mouth opened slightly. He tried to form some attempt at refuting Phillida, some desperate gambit to save his life's ambition, but looking into those familiar eyes, which could be so soft yet so rigidly firm, Lex knew he was doomed from the start. Phillida knew as well, and shook his head with a genuinely sad smile. "You're to clean out your quarters by Sundas, captain."

He couldn't take it. He knew he couldn't. Without wasting another moment, Lex turned and walked from the chambers as fast he could, not even bothering with a salute. He bolted past the confused looking secretary and wandered through the halls to a back exit. He opened the door and exited to the rear of the offices, in front of a drab gray stone wall. Lex stumbled down a step as he left the building, half in a daze. Against his will he felt the unfamiliar sensation of tears welling in his eyes, and he clenched his head in a mixture of failure and shame. Before the sob overcame him he looked upwards, and yelled to everyone and no one, "I… I… _I am descended from knights_!"

With that, the once proud captain fell to his knees and cried for the first time in years, completely alone as despair overtook him.

* * *

Habasi Nine-Lives' career was looking up. The young thief had debuted in the Imperial City to an amazing acclaim, hauling in jobs which could only be rivaled by the Gray Fox himself. The Guild heads were muttering to themselves about her, she knew it. After all, she had just made the headlines of the Courier. "Listen, everyone!" she called out, seated atop a small box in a dingy, poorly lit room, "'Special edition! Priceless Dwarven artifact stolen from Academy; Guard Captain Phillida stupefied'! This is big, everyone!"

One of her companions, a young, handsome Redguard, smiled. "Hah! Serves the old fool right. We stole that right under his nose; I still can't get over it."

Her other partner, another female Khajiit, who was more homely than Habasi and had a scruffier coat, also spoke up. "That was a stupid job, Habasi. We could've been killed, and were very close to it, too."

In response, Habasi laughed. The laugh of a Khajiit is an interesting one, raspy yet fluid; a noise that is distinctly alien to the ears of humans. The Redguard smirked towards the scrappy thief. "Now, now, J'Krivva, you've got to hand it to Habasi. She pulled this heist off flawlessly. You've got to give her credit when credit is due."

J'Krivva looked at the ground moodily. "Christophe would not praise her so if he was in a cell right now…"

Christophe cracked one of his trademark smiles. "But the important part is that we're not in said cell. Now listen up, kittens," he said, gaining their attention, "I've got big news to tell you two as well. I got news that both Kris and Olaf are retiring."

Habasi's young, lithe frame leaned forward, her feline eyes glittering. "_Both _doyens? At once? Impossible!"

"Believe it," Christophe replied with a cocky grin, "And with the entire guild talking about the Rimmen Three's latest and greatest accomplishment, I wouldn't be surprised if at least one of us was able to take one of those vacancies."

Habasi sprung across the room with a sort of yowl. "Aaaah! Christophe! This is amazing! We have a chance, a real chance!" she cried, locking her friend in a tight hug.

"You'd better believe it," he said, "The Fox isn't happy with the leadership right now. He thinks they're too conservative, too timid. That's why he's willing to promote a bunch of young but talented members like us to—Say, where did J'Krivva run off to?" he said, breaking off the main thread of conversation and looking about himself. Their other companion had seemed to have vanished.

Habasi let go of Christophe and looked about herself. "Habasi is not sure. She probably went into a corner and brood about how she'll be left behind by us!"

"Oh, that's not very nice," Christophe said with a laugh.

But he knew that it was true. They might've been a three person team, but J'Krivva was nowhere near the level of Habasi or Christophe. Habasi had often claimed she was nothing but dead weight, but for some reason or another Christophe said that she had her uses. However, if the group was indeed to have members become doyens, it was total folly for the scrappy J'Krivva to even dream of holding one of the seats.

Habasi looked back to her partner, leaning towards him in anticipation. "Can Christophe imagine? Being a doyen? This is something the huntress has wanted ever since she was a mewing kitten! Imagine the sugar-"

"Habasi," Christophe said, crossing his arms with a frown, "You know I don't like you getting close to that stuff."

Habasi bit her lip. "Christophe doesn't understand Khajiit. But fine…" she said, trailing off and thinking for a moment. "… Christophe?" she asked, after the short reflection.

"Yes, kitten?"

"If there is only one doyen seat for us…" she began slowly, nearly hesitantly, "What will happen to us?"

Christophe kept his arms crossed, but his look of concern became a grin. "What? You think that we'll drift as friends due to competition, or get angry at each other?"

Habasi didn't reply. "Listen, kitten," her friend started, "I know you've had some rough experiences in the past, but I'm not like that. Business is business, and I like to keep my person relationships out of it. If there is only one seat, we'll let the best thief win, and if it's you, I'll be overjoyed. But listen, you're a very important friend. I'd be hurt if this good thing wound up actually getting between us," he said, putting a hand of Habasi's shoulder.

Habasi closed her eyes, and felt an odd sensation in her chest. "Christophe is… Very kind to her."

"I'm just acting how a man should," he said. "Now, I don't know about you, but I want to leave the serious talk behind and go out and celebrate. You game?"

Habasi shook her head. "The foot was hurt when we escaped from the guards. Habasi should let it heal before she goes and enjoys herself."

"Well! That's oddly responsible of you. Perhaps you'll be the doyen after all" Christophe laughed. "Take care of yourself, and I'll see you tomorrow," he said, walking to the room's door.

"See you…" Habasi replied softly, and then sat in a nearby chair.

She hated how she felt around Christophe. It felt physically odd, as though someone was clenching her heart. She didn't know why. All she knew is that man, and that man alone, did odd things to her mind. She became more anxious, more excitable, more childish… It was almost as though the whole thing was…

"Disgusting."

Habasi turned around. Standing in a corner, looking rather sullen, was J'Krivva, who emerged from the shadows, shaking her head. "How disgusting, Habasi. I can hardly believe you."

Habasi bared her teeth. "Leave Habasi alone, housecat!" she snarled, "Her foot hurts her, and she has many things to think about without jealous barbs."

"Do you know what you are doing? How you, a Khajiit, looked at that _human? _It was disgusting!"

"Leave her! She doesn't want to speak to J'Krivva, who is wrong to begin with!" Habasi hissed, now slowly realizing J'Krivva's accusation.

"I'm sure Habasi doesn't wish to speak of it. It is disgusting and unnatural, after all. Ugh, your mother would be so appalled," J'Krivva muttered as she followed Christophe's path out the room, pleased with baiting Habasi so.

The thief smoldered in her seat for several moments before she stood up. "Talentless, jealous hanger-on!" she cried towards the empty door. "Weak idiot! Just wishes she had half of Habasi's talent!"

J'Krivva was wrong. She had to be. There was no possible way that Habasi could feel that way about a man; it was just impossible. Every cultural taboo was against such an act, and Habasi had never, ever even considered looking at a non-native of Elsweyr like that… However, she had no previous experience with a matter like this, and that odd fluttery feeling she had…

Habasi shook her head. Christophe was her friend, nothing more. And he was very special, in an innocent way. He wasn't like J'Krivva. He wasn't envious or cynical. She liked him because of that. He would never do anything dirty or petty like her other scrubby partner.

Habasi had convinced herself of that. But like so many other things people convince themselves of, sometimes the most basic assumptions we make can create fundamental, and tragic, errors in our worldviews. And Habasi Nine-lives would learn that lesson soon, in the hardest possible way.

* * *

The desert was never kind. The Khajiit knew that. They knew that you could never tame the desert. They knew you could never tolerate the heat, and more deadly, the total lack of water. They knew that any attempt to establish a permanent presence here would end in failure. Of course, nobody ever told that to the Empire.

The manes told the legion that Fort Dunemoth would be a deathtrap. And, to a certain extent, it was. Fresh water was always in short supply, the ever-blowing sand got into every orifice of the body, and you weren't considered seasoned until you had heat stroke at least a few times. And yet the caravans that passed through the barren, inhospitable desert were prime targets to be taxed. Therefore, despite the ludicrous odds against it, Fort Dunemoth remained open.

Veterans enjoyed looking at the looks on the faces of young, fresh soldiers when they were first transferred to Dunemoth. The tall fort was inevitably halfway in a sand dune, and it was a total marvel of imperial engineering that what sand there was didn't pour over the walls into the courtyard. However, this didn't prevent the sand from covering the walkways of the walls, a trait Varnado hated. Sometimes he wondered how the hell he was goaded into serving here.

However, things could always be worse. And they suddenly were when Varnado heard a sort of whistling coming from within a nearby door. He rolled his eyes and braced himself while he mentally prepared to suffer the fool who was now leaving the cool stone door and coming under the unforgiving sun. The Redguard looked at the newcomer and raised a brow. "Rufus? What the hell are you wearing over your head?"

Maro, who was squinting to adjust his eyes to the sun, suddenly lit up with excitement. "Oh, this?" he said, pointing at what looked like a pile of rags atop his head, "This is a shall. Or something like that. The Khajiit who sold it to me sort of rolled his words. But look, it protects my neck from the sun. I'll never be burned again!"

Varnado scoffed. "How creative," he said with a roll of his eyes, "Your grandmother should be proud."

"Sounds like _somebody's _jealous," Maro said, leaning on the wall of sand next to Varnado, "Anything interesting on this watch?"

"There's never anything interesting. Just a tiny little caravan, which got a tiny little tax. Nothing."

Maro grinned, "Looks like you're not just jealous, you're moody, too. Always an attitude with you, y'know that? Think about where you are, buddy!"

Endless, featureless wastes lay in all direction. "A divine-forsaken desert?"

"Exactly!" Maro chirped, hopping up. "A huge, endless desert! Filled with scorpions, and wanderers, and mysterious Khajiit! It's like we're being paid to be on an adventure! You know how many times people get to do stuff like this? Adventurers, maybe, but they get killed fast. We, Varnado, get to be out here, and live the sort of lives you only get to read about."

The younger man looked over the desert sands with a spark of life in his eyes even Varnado had to grudgingly admit was somewhat inspirational, if foolish. "Is this all you think about, Rufus? You know we're on a short tour. I bet you haven't even thought of the future, have you? In the days beyond bartering silly hats from Khajiit."

Maro shook his head and glanced to his companion. "Don't be too certain there, Varnado. I already have the perfect plan. You know how I'm pretty good with armor, right?"

"You mean that fluff that can't stop an axe?"

"The very same," Maro replied with a smile, "Well, my gran owns a small, abandoned building in the city. I'm going to make an armor store out of it! 'The Best Defense'! Has a nice ring, don't you think?"

Varnado couldn't help but give a half-amused smirk. "It'll fail in days, seeing as you don't actually stock _real _armor."

Maro laughed in response. "We'll see. I'm sure it'll be big someday," he said, looking back towards the desert. He had a quiet moment before glancing back to the Redguard, now slightly more serious. "Y'know, Varnado, I could get you in on the store, seeing as you like that heavy stuff. I'm sure it'll be successful with the two of us."

The momentary camaraderie Varnado had with Maro had now already vanished. "Rufus, you couldn't pay me to open shop with you," he replied, his voice taking the half-annoyed tone that characterized the two's conversations.

"Yeah, I know you say that now," Maro said, "But just think about it. It could be big."

The sun wasn't as hot anymore, and was drifting towards the west. The wind whipped up again, as it always did, causing some sand to blow and sting the two's faces. Maro wiped the grains from his eyes with his covered hands and tossed another glance to Varnado. "Say," he began slowly, as though he were meaning to ask something for some time, "What do you think of-"

Before he could speak, a voice from within the garrison called out, "Trooper Maro Rufus?"

Maro turned his head and looked indoors. "Hello?" he asked, "Somebody need me? I'm not skipping out on watch, you know!" he added in, his voice getting defensive.

A well armored knight exited the building, his face serious grave. "Rufus. Come inside. There's news you need to hear."

The tips of Maro's mouth twitched. "News?" he asked, "What kind of news?"

The knight paused before answering. "… It's about your grandmother, trooper. Your grandmother… And your sister. Come inside," he said with a professional sympathy.

Maro's face had turned from optimistic to very concerned. Looking at the worried features, Varnado felt as though that expression seemed unnatural on someone as thoroughly idiotic as his Imperial comrade. As Maro vanished into the building, another gust of wind picked up, and once again it felt as though any uncovered skin was being assailed by thousands of little daggers. 'Rufus…' Varnado thought to himself, 'Stupidly upbeat. Never growing up, like some little child…'

But Varnado, who thought of himself as a man who knew the world, shook his head. He couldn't be fully critical. Childishness, he knew had some benefits. Maro was one of the very few people he knew of who could still chase a dream, even when Tamriel itself seemed to conspire against him. But how long could the man hold desperately onto his optimism, to the point of foolishness? Every child grows up, and every man eventually realizes the fruitlessness of pursuing their fond, irrational dreams.

Maro never realized that. And that is why Varnado hated him so.

* * *

Auberon Flyte never allowed himself to show emotion, even on this day: his long awaited moment of triumph. He stood within a very sparsely decorated stone chamber, with the only distinctive features being the large amount of men looking at him, dressed as though they came from dozens of different walks of life, and a large table totally covered in parchment and paper. "Gentlemen," Auberon began, his voice sounding like cascading granite, "This is the moment we have been waiting for. I am now the regent over a dying heir to my dear cousin's throne. Reich Gradkeep is, after so many years, ours."

The crowd around him voiced their approval, but Auberon called for them to be silent. "Be not hasty. Indeed, it is too soon to truly relax. Yes, for now comes the task to solidifying this new reign. How have the guilds been reacting to this news?"

"The Mages' Guild has been of course neutral," spoke one man from the table, dressed in the fine garb of a rich trader, "But I have knowledge that the archmage approves of you, sire. The Fighters' have openly supports your new policies, and most of the smaller tradesmen organizations have been aligning towards you, with only a few exceptions."

"Excellent," said Auberon, although he didn't allow any sort of joy to pass over his austere expression. "What of the clergy?"

Another man, this one a stocky, bald priest, spoke quickly. "Oh, nearly all the churches in the Iliac bay are overjoyed with the prospect of you as regent, my great lord. The high priest at Mara's Cathederal was slightly hesitant at first to endorse your new rule, but he quickly reconsidered after our very generous donations to the churches coffers."

"Again, excellent," said Auberon, his face still dark as a stormcloud. "Has anyone heard news from the City?"

"The Elder Council hasn't been looking too much into this, really," said another man, who Auberon didn't bother to glance at. "Although I can't imagine them getting angry over this. Reich Gradkeep is not high on the list of priorities for the Elder Council. They're still reeling over the whole Tharn debacle, and any attempt to curb our plans now would be futile."

"Good to hear," replied the lord of the table, his mind ever turning. "I see no further problems to our rule, if we have such a solid foundation. For my first actions, I want repairs done for-"

"Please, sir," said one man, whose armor bore a beautifully embossed flame, "You do have one problem."

A quick hush fell over the table. Auberon, who had been looking at a map, slowly pivoted his head upward, looking at the knight who interrupted him with his frigid eyes. "Do you now? What problem do I have which I failed to note?"

"Only one man, sire," the knight replied, his face as uncompromising as his liege's, "Erasmus Servius."

Auberon closed his eyes and thought for a moment. "Servius…" he thought aloud, "The name seems oddly familiar. He is one of the Flame, isn't he?"

"Our latest, actually," replied the knight, "And he's well loved by the people. Young, charismatic, and confidant; I'd say if you give him a few years he'll be one of the most influential voices in Reich Gradkeep. Unfortunately for us, he's very loyal to Graddock- unwaveringly so, I'd say."

"Can we swing him to our side?"

"I don't know. We might, although he's a very perceptive man. He's the kind that can't be bought in by either honeyed words or cold drakes. And with his leanings towards the former lord of this nation… He might believe those rumors floating around…"

Auberon didn't respond at first. His eyes closed in thought as he gently bowed his head. However, after a moment of thought, he muttered, "What are our options?", not bothering to look up.

"We could ignore him," offered the merchant, "He's just one man. I don't care how popular he is, one lowly knight can't go against the crown."

"Overconfidence will be the end if us," was Auberon's chilling reply, "What else?"

"We could always take him out…" the priest mused with a thin smile, "Knights die all the time, and we could even use his funeral to bolster-"

"We're not murderers," Auberon interjected, his voice severing the air like a blade, "And I'm disgusted you'd propose such a vile suggestion."

The priest sunk into his seat slightly and muttered a weak, "Forgiveness, sire…"

Auberon fumed for several moments as the tension in the room built to a nearly palpable state. His furrowed brow, tense in thought, gave him the air of a person to never be crossed; a sort of terrible genius as well as a sort of superior specimen of man. As most of his advisors became more and more withdrawn, the knight eventually opened his mouth. "I do have a recommendation, sire."

"Speak."

"There is a… Legion. The XIIth, to be precise. They have a fort right in the middle of the Black Marsh, right next to Murkwood. It's quite possibly the most dangerous place in all of the Empire. And they _always _have vacancies. In fact," he continued, his eyes betraying a smile his lips concealed, "they're looking for a knight bachelor as we speak."

The brooding figure of Auberon thought over the prospect. "Murkwood. There isn't a single place farther away…"

"He couldn't touch you there. He couldn't even send word from there; no courier takes such a suicidal route. And it would even technically be a promotion for him, too."

Auberon nodded slowly and deliberately. "Very well. Draw up the transfer papers now. I want Erasmus Servius out of the Iliac Bay before the week is out."

The knight bowed and turned away from the table. "Of course, my lord. I live to serve."

The average life expectancy in the XIIth legion was, as the knight knew, two months. To the court of Lord Auberon Flyte, Servius' 'promotion' was simply a prolonged death sentence. But when the young, fair, and charismatic knight received the order, he received it with his characteristic humility and reservation. Servius assumed that his assignment would be a setback, but nothing terrible. Yet even then, when he left the gates of Reich Gradkeep for the last time, the seed of anger had been planted in his heart. And deep within the humid, poisonous swamps of Argonia, was it any surprise that it sprouted into a dark, carnivorous plant of vengeance?


	20. The Forgotten

When Lex thought about what it was like to be imperator, he had many preconceptions. Some involved leading mean he didn't know how to command, or to single out an enemy general for an epic duel. Sitting in a cramped supply wagon, however, was not in any of those. His spine felt as though it had been rearranged into an 'S' with a large box jutting into his lower back. The wagon smelled horrible, as one would expect from one owned by hundreds of Nords who saw personal hygiene as the mark of a nancy, and the constant grating of the poorly oiled wheels started to irritate the man. General Sigrdríf, who sat just across from Lex, didn't seem discouraged at all, and was thoroughly engaged in a dossier of some variety. "I am sorry for the accommodations, Imperator," she said, not leaving her work, "If we knew you were coming ahead of time, I would've ordered a new carriage. But this serves our purposes well."

Lex bent his already hunched head to avoid a pan the fell from some ledge above him. "Oh, I'm sure," he said, his voice characteristically void of sarcasm, but at the same time not content.

"We can't take horses into Morrowind," she said, still reading, "The grass there cuts their stomachs to ribbons. But we've bred mules that can survive out east, which is the only reasons these supply trains can make it. Besides, keeping you in here means that any assassin can't see you, and with an attempt on your life only a few days behind us, I find it prudent to have you out of sight if possible."

"Of course, general," said Lex, withholding a shudder from the icy mountain air which seeped through the cracks of the wooden panels behind him. "But why aren't you leading your men, then?"

"Because, sir, your life is in danger. I have lots of lieutenants to who I can give easy work, like leading the men. They're not doing anything foolish. But when it comes to your life, well, I wouldn't delegate that task to anyone but the very best. And frankly," she said, a confidant smirk spreading over her face while her attention was kept on the paper, "_I_ am the best."

Lex didn't say anything in response. He looked about the variety of goods that were scattered about the cart, trying to keep the disturbing thoughts from the previous night out of his head. He decided to purge difficult thoughts from his mind by addressing a different set of hard topics. "General," he started, dodging another falling pan, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, sir," replied Sigrdríf, putting aside her work.

"You certainly have a rather… Low opinion of Commander Civello. May I ask why?"

Sigrdríf blinked once and then laughed, her voice fresher than the north wind itself. "Oh, I see. Is this query an order?"

"Well, I…" Lex mumbled in a rare moment of being off his guard.

"I speak in jest, imperator," she said, still smiling, "And of course, if you are so curious, I would be happy to oblige. How long have you known Civello?" she asked, now leaning back unprofessionally.

"Roughly four months, I would assume," Lex replied, his own posture as uncompromising as his taciturn lifestyle, "Ever since I was reassigned back to the City."

Sigrdríf gave another crisp laugh as a reply. "Then you've never met the real Giovanni Civello. That man…" she started, weighing her words, "That man has dozens of masks he hides behind. I'm actually not all that surprised you didn't see through them, though. You see, sir, everyone who is successful, truly successful, has a talent. Mine is my voice, the _thu'um. _Yours is your zealous yet meticulous frame of mind. And Civello? A fat, lazy fool? He lies. He is an amazing liar."

"A liar?" Lex replied in a low voice.

"Oh, yes. Civello, you see, was born poor. Dirt poor. But if you do your research," the general said with a sly wink, "You'll realize he has a rather shady past. You don't become captain without one of those pasts, unless you're Phillida. And that fortune of his? It didn't all come from his uncle Antonius. How do you think he has that much decadence on a captain's salary? You don't make that much, do you?"

Lex narrowed his brows suspiciously. "No, nowhere near."

Sigrdríf nodded. "Exactly. That money he has… Well, I've no proof, so I can't make any accusations… But think, imperator, about how you would earn that sort of capital. There are a lot of 'special interests' in the City, all of which would be more than happy to line an ambitious guard captain's pockets in return for having certain ventures ignored. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

"But you've no proof," Lex insisted.

"Alas," Sigrdríf replied playfully, "I do not. But trust me, Commander Civello is very, very smart. Frighteningly so, even. He puts on an air of foolishness to rope people into underestimating him, so he can crush them afterwards. A man of his talent and intellect would never, ever leave behind loose ends. Especially under Phillida's watch; Phillida was always keeping an eye on who was trustworthy."

"But when was the last time you met him?"

"In person? Why, it's been ages… I was with my father, when he was the general… But it doesn't matter, really."

"And why would you say that," Lex replied, his voice acquiring a defensive edge, "Perhaps he was a rotten man before, but can't people improve over time?"

Sigrdríf shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose. But tell me, imperator, has he ever renounced his ill gotten wealth? Seeing the golden embroidered stationary I received the order to take you in, I'd assume not. And what about you?" she asked, leaning forward and letting her previously lighthearted face turn darker, "You don't need to pretend in front of me, sir. I know, from your record and what I've seen of you so far, that you have absolutely no desire to be emperor. Civello is too unpopular to become one himself, so he needed a puppet, but sometimes puppets move on their own. If he had a man he somehow convinced he was some sort of moral hero to, he wouldn't need to worry. He'd have all the benefits of being emperor without the drawbacks, you understand?"

Lex shook his head. "I… I have faith in Commander Civello."

"See," Sigrdríf said, her smile now dark, "You made an _assumption _that Commander Civello was truthful when he told you whatever he did. But how moral could a man be, who forces another man to undertake trials he despises? How moral can a man be, who keeps ill-gotten wealth at his side at all times? Civello is an amazing actor, but if you can pierce that mask of his, you'll see the slimeball for who he is. A weak man who takes advantage of the talents of others. Clear as crystal, isn't it?"

Lex couldn't reply for a few moments. His partner merely smiled at him, content as though she had won an argument. As he contemplated, old thoughts echoed in his mind. 'Never, ever blink at injustice. Never bat an eyelash at lawbreakers. The benefit of the doubt is a benefit we can never, ever afford. Then pay with your blood!' His words, hardly a year back. Could it really be that he was the pawn of a criminal? Could it be that he fell into such a net entirely without knowing it?

He shook his head again. "This… There has to be something else here. Do you have some sort of grudge against the commander personally?" he asked, his rapid voice delivering the question entirely without finesse.

The general closed her eyes. "… I do," said Sigrdríf after a moment, "But I'd rather prefer not to drag personal matters into this, especially not this one."

"So ultimately, you're biased" Lex reasoned, "And I can't entirely trust you."

Sigrdríf's eyes flew open, and her moody expression brightened in seconds. "Exactly! You cannot trust me, as you cannot trust anyone. You don't understand politics, imperator, but you're learning. The number one rule you must always, always keep is to never trust anyone."

"I'd prefer not to live by that saying."

"Then you'd prefer not to be a politician. Remember, assumptions are the enemy. And," she added with a smile, "I think you're beginning to understand that rule, aren't you."

Lex looked at her for a moment, allowing the tension of the moment to relax before speaking. "You know," he began slowly, "In a way, you're quite like Civello."

"Oh?" replied Sigrdríf with a little mirth, "Well, I suppose I'll need to decide whether or not to take that personally!"

She beamed towards Lex, and then sat upright. The general picked back up her documents and started to read them over again, her senses fully engaged in her work. Lex, on his part, looked towards the rickety ceiling of the cart, not entirely sure of what to believe, and somewhat regretting that he had found a companion to the unsettling thoughts of the night past.

* * *

Erasmus Servius was mad.

He had led a group of his best rangers deep into Murkwood. Of the seven, only two were still alive. Murkwood was as close to a hell that could exist on Nirn. The entire land reeked of death and decay. As the general moved his way over poisoned streams and between warped and forbidding trees, he heard one of his men call out from behind him. "General, this is too dangerous! We're all going to die; no mortal has ever come this deep into the forest before, and for good reason!"

"Are you so superstitious that you really find this land cursed!?" Servius called back, skewering a terrible looking plant with his sword, causing the growth to hiss. "We press onward! We're not too far away now!"

Servius couldn't argue that they belonged here. No man had ever set foot in this marsh. Not even any animals could be found this deep in. The only sounds that broke the horrifying tension of the misty, deadly darkness were the noises of noxious gasses slipping from the blighted earth, or maybe the wretched, tortured call of a long-forgotten bird. Servius didn't care. He didn't care that he was standing in death itself. He had a mission, as well as a fatalistic determination to see it through.

The weaker minds behind him were not appeased, "Sir, this is cursed land! No one sets foot any farther and lives, not a soul!"

"Have you any courage, man!?" Servius snapped, "We can't turn back now, it's far too late!"

Servius continued forward, his eyes swiftly scanning the suffocating depths of the swamp for his destination. "It's far too late…" he muttered again, more to himself than anyone else.

Servius found himself in a moment of surprise however, when his foot hit the ground and didn't feel the standard saturated mud of the swamp, but something hard and unyielding. He immediately kneeled and clawed at the dirt while his surviving companions drew close to him, their swords ready to strike any incoming threats. The general shoved aside the fetid earth and found what he was looking for. He was on a root. A very large root.

His head snapped upwards, looking into the mists in front of him. As his eye probed the land in front of him, something farther ahead on the trip came into view. The Argonians saw it as well and gasped in awe. Servius slowly stood up as the vapors began to part. Before them was a tree of epic proportions. Normally veiled in poisonous clouds, it was now visible in all of its glory to the naked eye; huge, powerful, ancient, proud, forbidden. The mighty boughs were large enough to hold cities, and the trunk was mightier than a mountain. Servius walked forward, now up on one of roots so large it put any Imperial road to shame. The tree was far beyond old. It was as though Servius was actually walking upon time itself as he scaled the bark, his normally highly focused eyes drifting over the majesty of the god-plant. And when he was farther up the tree, near its tower-like trunk, he noticed a small speck erring its primal perfection. A door.

The general felt the sense of accomplishment flood through him. "Pay very close attention, gentlemen," he said to his companions, "Because we stand where no mortal has stood, and we witness what no mortal has ever dared to do. And I shall accomplish something that no one has ever dreamed of. We are here, friends. We have found the stuff of legend—this is the Eldest Hist!"

* * *

Habasi's search had turned up little in the past few nights, but she wasn't discouraged. Her lithe frame hopped from roof to roof with ease as her sharp eyes scanned the ground far below her. It seemed to be an average day on the waterfront, with nothing that out of the ordinary happening. She drank in the sights and sounds of the city as her eyes kept looking, and just as she was considering to break for a quick meal, she saw it.

Nearly a dozen guardsmen were gathered around Agrippa's stand. Habasi tried her hardest not to laugh. 'Serves Agrippa right,' she thought to herself, 'That one was bound to be caught sooner or later.' She took a few steps forward and looked to see if she could spot the old dealer being arrested. The man wasn't there, be she _did _notice something red dangling from a corner of the stand, almost like it was a slaughtered bull-

She realized what it was, and her seasoned blood ran cold. The thief ducked behind a ledge near the building her breathing now increased and frightful. After a moment of composure she closed her eyes and focused as hard as she could on her hearing, and began to make out pieces of the conversation.

"Zenethar's wealth," one guard muttered, "What a way to go. I've never seen anything this… Brutal."

"Aye," said another, "This sort of work… It's nightmarish. Almost as though they took a page from Vaernima's book."

"I mean, ugh… I can hardly look at the poor—"

"Quiet, son," the other man interrupted, "Here comes the commander."

There was a moment of silence, and then the sound of the heavy plod of boots. Habasi heard some movement and then a voice, one high pitched and pompous yet commanding, called out, "My word. What happened here?"

"We just found him like this, sir, tied up by the feet and dangling over the ground," said the second guard.

"Any suspects?" the commander asked. Habasi could hear someone start to walk.

"None. I've asked around, but no one saw this happen. Uncanny, really."

"I see… My, my, look at this man," said the pompous man, "And I always thought the term 'skinned alive' was a figure of speech. It must've been extremely painful…"

"C-Commander? What are you-?"

"A moment of silence, if you please," the pompous voice called out, "… Gods above, look at this. Look at these cuts…"

"Ugh, sir, I think I'm going to be sick if I-

"No, no, look! Look closely! Have you ever seen cuts like this? The blade must've been… Serrated, I assume. Have you ever seen a serrated blade capable of such a delicate job? Of skinning a man alive? Do we even know who this man is?"

"Yes, sir," the first soldier said, "His name was Agrippa. Marcus Agrippa. Apparently a skooma lord of small renown. We captured him once before. I know skooma lords have a dangerous career, but still, this is…"

"Unprecedented," said the commander. "Absolutely unprecedented. It makes me feel somewhat nervous, honestly. You, start combing the docks for suspects, and you, go send word to the Imperial Library to look into a sort of blade that fits the bill we're looking for. Hurry up, now, we haven't much time! This is a murder, and we've no idea when the criminal will strike again!"

Habasi heard some acknowledgements and the sounds of many feet. Her breathing was still heavy and ragged. She never assumed for a moment Agrippa was in so deep, or that he was telling the truth that his employers would actually kill him, and in such a stygian way. As the Khajiit stood, she took one last hesitant glance over the crime scene and immediately regretted it. "Agrippa… She hated you," she muttered to herself, "But she will also avenge you."

With that, Habasi hopped off the building, any concerns about her noontime meal long forgotten.

* * *

"'Divide and conquer'? What in the world are you talking about, Berel?"

Berel Sala didn't look up at Fedris Hler, choosing instead to keep his knee, like his eyes, to the ground. "Upon reviewing the tactics we've been adopting, muthsera, I think that it would be in the best interest to Morrowind's future if we split the army to better defend our southern border."

Hler put a hand to his face. "First, stand up, Berel. Now, tell me, what's gotten into your mind? This is a… Odd change of tactics to be sure," the archcanon said, striding to his desk in the middle of his comfortable tent, "Can I offer you something to drink?"

"I think that our southern border could use a closer guard," Sala responded, standing up, "Any attack from the south could do serious damage, especially knowing that most of the Imperial remnant forces still haunt those lands."

Hler sighed. "Only the beastfolk live there, Berel. There is hardly an Imperial presence in the region whatsoever, and it would be completely impossible for any sort of coherent force to move through the swamp fast enough to endanger us. What made you change your mind so suddenly, and to such an odd position?"

Sala shook his head, unable to clarify his thoughts. "I… It's nothing, sera," he said after a moment, "Nothing at all. Forgive my intrusion," he said, turning to the exit of Hler's tent.

The patriarch called out to Sala before he could leave. "Wait, Berel. I have news myself to deliver to you now. Most melancholy news."

Hler gave a deep sigh as he drew in a long breath. "I received news last night that… Archcanon Tholer Saryoni has been assassinated by a Blade on his return trip to Vivec."

There was a heavy, heavy silence between the two that was denser than lead. Sala felt blood pump to his face while he stood motionless, his entire body shaking slightly. Hler allowed his companion a few moments to compose himself before beginning. "As you see, Berel, the Empire will stop at nothing until they annihilate us. They murdered a patriarch—I personally cannot think of a more reprehensible action. It's nearly beyond belief. However, we know they are bringing an army from Cyrodiil in a last attempt to subjugate us. We need every soldier we have watching the roads, trying to get word of the legion. Do you understand? We need clarity and reason now more than ever before… For his sake."

Sala nodded, "… Of course, sera. I will go and rally the men. Do they know of Saryoni's…?

"No, they don't. Lead them, Berel," the older man said as softly as he could, "Help them through this time. I know you can."

Sala nodded and left the tent. Hler could see a slight mist in the ordinator's noble eyes, and steepled his hands in thought. His gentler than normal disposition melted away as he said aloud, "What is that child thinking?", his voice low and frusturated.

From one shadowed corner of the tent a snicker rang out as a reply. "Who knows?" the voice rang playfully, "I think the change from leading the Watch to leading the entire army is starting to press him harder than he's used to."

Hler closed his eyes and sighed. "I just hope that the fool doesn't go and do something stupid with the army. He's been prone to romantic fits like that lately…"

A black-cloaked figure emerged from the shadows. "You want me to keep an eye on him, sera?" the man asked with a laugh.

"… Only slightly. Don't let him know you exist. No intervention, understand?"

"Of course!" said the cloaked man, dissipating back into the darker areas of the tent, "After all, I wouldn't want to jeopardize Morrowind's independence, would I?"

Hler narrowed his eyes, which shone with suspicion. "No," he said, his voice thoroughly unconvincing, "I don't believe that you would."

* * *

The Altmer diplomat was engaged in statecraft at most hours of the day. Indeed, that was his entire life, and a job which gave meaning to his prolonged existence. It was the evening hours, and the setting sun hit his windows, causing the glass window behind him to scatter the light in a thousand different beams, illuminating his delicate chambers just how he liked it. As he worked, an aide entered his wide, open room and bowed. "The woman has arrived, my lord."

"Good," he said, setting aside his quill, "Send her in, please."

The man gave another bow, and exited the door. A few moments passed before a female figure entered the room. The diplomat was surprised (although he would _never _allow his face to show it) at her choice of dress. The woman was clothed in a simple black robe, which covered her entire body, and the hood was thrown over her head. He noticed that there was some sort of darkness enchantment in the fabrics, as her face was totally obscured despite the light which was fully illuminating the room. She curtsied before the diplomat. "At last, the two of us finally meet," she said in an all too familiar accent.

The diplomat crossed his hands together, but kept his face emotionless. "Ah, my, you're one of _those. _I haven't seen any of your type in Tamriel since… Well, I can hardly even remember the last time."

The woman took a step back, her body tense. "Y-you know what I am? But how? You're bluffing!"

The diplomat gave a dry laugh, or at least imitated the noise of one. There was no spirit in it. "Please, I've been alive before your grandfather's grandfather. I've heard the voices of thousands, and can recall any one I've heard. However, I have no reason to disclose your presence to our mutual enemy, so you've no reason to be frightened. Please, sit down," he said, gesturing to a nearby seat.

She eyed it wearily, but accepted his offer. "You have my thanks. Although I'm still curious as to how you found that I was even was even in these islands, let alone find one of my contacts."

"I am not a fool," the diplomat replied, "I have known for some time that there was an outside interest trying to conduct affairs in the dying Empire ever since the Oblivion Crisis ended. It's all progressed far too ideally to be chance. Even on our own lovely islands… I take it that I have you to thank for purging the Beautiful?" The diplomat said, his face a blank canvas of emotion.

"Nothing seems to escape your notice, now does it?" she said, "But you're making a huge assumption that I was the culprit."

"No, I am not. I never assume. The murders, as ghastly as they were, suggest the usage of weapons and tools that only you would possess."

"Are you going to arrest me?" replied the woman quickly.

The diplomat shook his head. "No, I should be thanking you. It has kept this new rule surprisingly stable, without those young fools questioning our actions. And it is on that topic which I invited you here, and am overjoyed that you've taken the initiative to accept my offer. Would you like something eat or drink?"

"No, thank you," she said, sitting down.

The diplomat folded his hands on top of each other. "Now, let us not waste time on other pleasantries, as I am a very busy man. How many of you are in Tamriel?"

"My, my," the cloaked woman replied, starting to become more at ease, "You certainly fancy yourself as a powerful man with the upper hand here, don't you?"

"My dear," the diplomat replied flatly, "You are in the Crystal Tower; it's the absolute heart of the Aldmeri Dominion. There is absolutely no way that you could have any advantage over me."

The female figure leaned in. "Oh, so you assume. But let me tell you something, elf. While your people have been busy paying tributes to the crown and forgetting where this tower even was, my people have been very hard at work. We have ways of discovery you couldn't even dream of."

"Regardless of your capacities, my question is still valid. How many of you are in Tamriel? I'd really suggest you answer."

The woman drew a breath in, thought for a moment, and then shook her head. "Only a small number. I'm not exactly sure myself. My mission is only to work in the eastern regions, and I find the goings on elsewhere rather boring."

"You're lying."

"Well, it would be telling to reveal too much," she said, her voiced glazed with newfound arrogance, "It's far more fun to figure things out on your own, don't you agree? If I told you our numbers, our motives, why, wouldn't it be spoiling the ending?"

The diplomat's face underwent no change. "… Fine. However, I would still like to offer you one last piece of advice. There is no doubt that your people are behind the successes in Morrowind and Sentinel, as well as the very rebellion of the latter. And you have been of help to the Dominion. However, our internal affairs are our own. This nation thanks you for the garbage you helped sweep up; however, we will not tolerate further meddling. Do I make myself clear?"

"Very much so," said the woman, standing up and wiping off her robe. "May I leave now?"

"Of course. Ask for an escort to the lower—"

However, before the diplomat could reply, the woman vanished. She simply dissipated into the air, leaving absolutely nothing behind. The Altmer diplomat's cool features broke as he leaned forward in surprise, his eyes large and darting across the room. "Not a recall spell," he said to himself, "And definitely not an intervention…"

Another moment had past, and the diplomat had returned to his normal, completely unshaken form. His dipped a quill into an inkpot and wrote on a new sheet of parchment at his desk.

_Sire,_

_Our predictions were correct. The Pillar is currently on the move in Tamriel. I suspect that the other two members are in Morrowind or perhaps Elswyer. One member is at large in the islands—I would recommend her immediate apprehension. Be warned, she is very evasive, and I highly doubt that she can be truly captured without a significant effort. _

_Be sure to contact the other pact members and give them warning. The Pillar's actions can only mean that something greater is in the works. The Empire is dying, and yet our vulnerabilities are still painful visible. This enemy has returned with new abilities outside my own comprehension; I shall study it in my free time._

_Warn and encourage vigilance,_

_-D.I. _


	21. Diverging Courses

Guilliam had grown very tired of marching. The novelty of the new, mountainous terrain has long worn off, and the reality of blistered feet and bitter gruel had been chipping at his normally bright spirits. But he carried on, as did all of the VIIth, despite his growing suspicion that following Lex had not been the best idea after all. The majesty of the Valuses had waned this close to the border of Morrowind—the hauntingly desolate and craggy spires had rounded, and the imperial purple of the rock had turned a dullish brown. Unhappy clouds blotted out the sun, causing the normally enthusiastic young man to be lethargic and tired.

At his side marched Kirania, who kept stoic; her eyes were rigid and her face thoughtful. Guilliam silently envied her easy, fluid stride, as every step he took required a focused determination. After a few more strained paces, he turned to his companion, hoping that his companion would make the time pass faster. "Don't you ever get tried?" he asked, his voice raspy with heavy breathing.

Kirania turned to him suddenly. "Come again?"

Guilliam sighed, "Forget it… Say, do you have any idea how much longer we've got to keep going?" he asked, nearly in a whine.

Two Nords marching ahead of him snorted condescendingly, and Guilliam felt his cheeks go red when he saw that those soldiers were carrying far greater loads than himself. Kirania gave the young Breton an understanding smile. "I hear that we're going to meet the eastern legions any day now. I'd try to keep my spirits up."

"Yeah, yeah…" Guilliam muttered, looking at the sky, "It's just that my feet are killing me, and I just want to take a long sleep, you know?"

"I'm fine," said Kirania, "And I think you're focusing on this march too much. Like I told you before, think about something to take your mind off the labor, something interesting. That's how I do it."

"I guess…" Guilliam muttered, obviously wishing to be coddled a little more. "It's just not fair, though! I mean, the cap'n just gets to sit in the carriage over there and doesn't need to take a single step until we set up camp."

"He's the imperator, what do you think he'd do? Wander around on foot? Besides, you know he's talking strategy with General Sigrdríf anyway. I can't say that I envy that sort of position," Kirania ended with a haughty tone of voice.

"I dunno…" mused Guilliam, "She _is_ pretty good looking-"

Before he could finish his statement, Kirania shot him a glare of pure poison. "What!? What do you mean she's 'pretty good looking'!?"

The two Nords ahead of them laughed again, and Guilliam felt himself blush once more. "W-well, I mean… It's obvious, isn't it? I mean, look at her hair; look at her skin… And plus, she's got _huge_-"

"You're delusional!" Kirania interrupted, "I can't believe you'd find a woman like that attractive!" she finished, pointing a finger in the young man's face

"Gah, you're touchy about this," Guilliam said, rolling his eyes, "It makes it sound like you're jealous-"

"_What!?_"

"Well, c'mon," Guilliam said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head, "They're all alone in that cart… And Sigrdríf definitely fancies him in _some _way… I wouldn't be surprised if-"

"Just shut up!" Kirania snapped, her face red and eyes bitter, "And think about something else!"

Guilliam turned his eyes to the road and chose not to reply. Several minutes went by, and eventually both of their tempers quelled. The two scoffing Nords also decided that the younger pair would no longer be a source of amusing drama and continued at a faster pace up the road. "Sorry," the Breton said at last.

"It's nothing," Kirania quickly replied, "Forget about it."

"You've been dodging the cap'n recently. I've noticed."

"I said it's nothing. Don't read too far in to things that aren't actually there."

"If you say so…" Guilliam replied, and then thought for a moment.

After a few minutes of silence, he glanced back towards his friend. "Say, Kirania, have you ever been to war?"

"War?" Kirania responded, "Well, I mean… I've been in scuffles and fights, but it's all been pretty small stuff. Never war."

"… I've never done something like this, you know," Guilliam said in a low voice, his eyes narrowing. "I've seen Cap'n Lex fight, and all, but… This is totally different, isn't it? We could really die."

"Don't talk like that!" Kirania said with a scowl, "No one is going to die!"

The young man didn't respond at first, still looking ahead of himself, deep in thought. Kirania exhaled in frustration. "Listen. I know it seems like it'll be bad, but in war, you hardly even fight big battles. It's all attrition. Don't go worrying yourself—both of us are way to young to go down. We've got too much promise," she said with a forced smile.

"Yeah, I guess…" the Breton said, before looking back towards his Bosmer comrade. "Well, just remember, we're all in it for the long haul in this campagin, right?" he finished, his voice now sounding slightly uncertain, and perhaps a little frightened.

Kirania turned and looked at the younger Imperial. He was somewhat nervous, which he probably should be. She smiled and nodded towards her friend. "Of course," she said, much of the frustration in her voice now gone, "We're in this together, Guilliam. For the entire way."

* * *

Luther Broad was having a slow evening. Business had been very good recently, with the huge amount of foreign travelers either wanting to learn more about the promises of a new emperor, or alternatively flee destruction in the provinces. Regardless, this day was unusually quiet. He was considering putting away some of his cutlery when the door to his establishment was thrown open. He watched as an aging Khajiit skulked in slowly, her body tired and weary, and threw herself into a nearby seat. Broad walked over to her, but before he could announce the night's specials he caught glimpse of the beastfolk's face. "… Habasi? Habasi, is that you?"

Habasi didn't return the gaze. "Agrippa is dead, Broad," she said at last, "He was murdered."

Broad sighed deeply. "Is he really…? When did that happen?" he asked while making his way behind his counter.

"She dosen't know," Habasi muttered, now deeply slouched in her chair, "Maybe last night. But he is very dead. It is hard to believe."

Broad crouched behind the counter, and Habasi could hear him sorting through some items. "But you two weren't really fond of each other, were you? At least you weren't back in the day."

"Habasi hated Agrippa," she said, her eyes now closed, "But despite Agrippa's idiocy, he had very important uses for her. It is very inconvenient for him to die now."

Broad stood back up and looked at the exhausted thief. "I'm sure. Here, catch," he said, tossing her a sleek, silver bottle. "I hope you've developed a taste for flin."

Habasi, despite the fact her eyes were still closed, effortlessly reached up her arm and seized the flying bottle. She deftly broke the seal upon the stopper and took a large swig. "… This is a good bottle. A good year," she said after a moment of appraisal.

"It's a 399," he said, making his way towards the table Habasi was seated at, "And of course it's a good bottle. My adventure days are well behind me; all I really want in life is to run this boarding house. Naturally, I provide only the best."

He pulled out the chair opposite Habasi and sat down. Several minutes passed without a word said between the two, the only sound breaking the silence being Habasi's occasional gulp of her drink. At last, Broad ended the heavy silence that had settled on the room. "Tell me, Habasi, why're you here?"

Habasi didn't respond for about a minute. "… Did Broad continue to speak with Agrippa?"

Broad exhaled and scratched the back of his head. "Well… I mean, we weren't close, by any means. But he still stopped by the inn from time to time to support my business, but…"

"Did you ever speak with him?" Habasi asked, her eyes still closed and her voice still fatigued.

"I did somewhat, I suppose. He had been in… Difficult times recently."

"Habasi needs to know what Agrippa was doing," the Khajiit said, now sitting up, "She needs to know what Broad knows."

It was now Broad's turn to not reply for some time as he glued his eyes to the table in thought. "Marcus…" he began at last, "Had been getting into something other than skooma. Something dangerous. Very dangerous… A substance that he called felshine…"

Broad hushed his voice, and gave a few more moments of contemplation before he decided to speak again. "… It's nasty stuff. Far worse than skooma ever tried to be. It'll hook you on it during your very first sip, and if you don't get more it utterly destroys your body. That's what some people know… Some others know where to find it, in our own Elven Gardens; it's the hidden shame of the fashionable families that their young dandies were so entangled with this mess… But… The real root of the matter, Habasi… I don't think many people know that at all. Tell me the truth; you're here under Armand's orders, aren't you?"

"Christophe's?" Habasi said, her ears perking up, "Does it really matter, Broad? She knows you dislike the Guild, but Habasi needs this information much more than you know."

Broad looked over his shoulder and sighed. "… All I know is this. He always received his shipments on Tirdas, and then would more often than not bring them into the Gardens… Now, this is all hearsay, but… Have you heard the rumor about the ghost ship?"

"Ghost ship?" the thief repeated, her ears lowering, "Habasi has no time for such nonsense."

"Maybe so…" Broad muttered, "But they say that late Morndas night, or early Tirdas morning, a terrible ship appears off the Waterfront. It's huge, but built in an odd, alien style; and glows with an eerie light… And it only appears for a few hours, before vanishing again into the mist…"

"A mysterious ship that appears the night before Agrippa's shipments?" Habasi said, life growing in eyes.

"Why else do you think the Guild and the Guard haven't found the root of the felshine?" Broad said with a quick shrug. "Now, I don't necessarily believe in ghost ships, but…"

The Khajiit stood from her chair, now energized. "We do believe in supply ships."

Habasi quickly made her way to the door. She cast one glance behind herself before she left the building. "Habasi thanks you, Luther Broad. She is happy to know that she still has friends in the City, even after all these years."

"What are you talking about?" Broad said, walking towards his counter, "I just was swapping rumors. You owe me for that flin, by the way," he called out nonchalantly, starting to polish a glass.

A rare smile broke over Habasi's face. "This one will pay you when she is done with her work. But for now, she has little time."

With that, she vanished into the night as though she was never there to begin with. Broad kept buffing his glass with a steady arm. He still hadn't had any customers during the entire slow night. However, even he had to admit it turned out to be an interesting one.

* * *

Once again, Giovanni Civello spent the early morning hours in his office. The sheer amount of forms and ledgers never vanished, and the commander refused to lose any time that he could spend working doing frivolous pastimes. There was a certain nobility to hard work, he had always thought. And despite the difficulty, work, like virtue, was its own reward. Some time around two o'clock Civello heard a knock at his door, and moments later the sallow face of his secretary peeked through the crack. "Commander?" he asked, "I've got some food for you."

Civello's pudgy face broke into a grin. "Oh, capital! Bring it out, bring it out; I was wondering when I was going to get something to eat!"

The secretary walked in carrying a finely carved silver platter, topped with a large, warm meal. "Is the work coming along well?" he asked, gently setting the tray on Civello's desk.

"Ah, well, it's going along at a reasonable pace. It's neverendless, you know…" he muttered while the secretary further prepared the food. "However, I don't mind so much. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, you know."

"I take it you're not returning home tonight?" the secretary asked, taking a step back from his employer's desk.

"No," replied Civello, picking up a fork, "I don't believe I shall. Send word to my wife, will you?"

"It is a little late for, sir."

Civello spent a second in confused silence, and then laughed. "Oh, it is, isn't it? I lost track of time! I half thought that this was supper!"

The portly commander chuckled once more, and then started to eat some of his vegetables. Civello continued to dine without interruption, only stopping to voice his approval of the meal. When he pushed the platter away from him, his secretary coughed slightly. "Actually, sir, about your wife…"

Civello looked up inquisitively, patting at his lips with a flowery handkerchief. The secretary looked uncomfortable, but continued. "You know of the scandal…?"

The commander's mood plummeted like a sinking rock, his expression dour and his normally playful eyes heavy. "She's still up to it, is she? Well, damage report. What happened this time?"

The secretary coughed again. "Well, sir… She, eh, spent the evening with a Mr. Severius Atius. A very visible and public evening. And, at the end of said evening, she retired with him, in his own mansion, without a modicum of subtlety."

Civello sighed deeply. "Damn her…" he said, putting a hand to his ruddy forehead. "Oh, the socialites will be speaking of this for weeks… This is just beyond embarrassing."

"This, sir, is why I recommended that you should've divorced her the first time-"

"No," Civello said with great emphasis, "No, I shan't have that. I refuse to bear that sort of odium."

"Frankly, sir," said the secretary, gathering the silver, "Under Imperial law, if she initiates the process, you can do nothing but obey. And sir, after this blatant display, it might be best for you."

Civello shook his head. "By the Divines… I'll not just be the laughingstock by my policies, but also because of that damnedable woman."

The secretary, having finished gathering Civello's mid-morning snack, started making his way to the door. "Well, I myself need to rest for the evening. What sort of statement would you have me prepare?"

"No statement," said Civello, picking up his quill, "I've no concern with her anymore. Let her rot with Boethiah. I assume she'll send in the forms?"

"Most likely," said the secretary. "… I really am sorry, sir."

"I know," said Civello, returning to his work, "But it matters not. We've got a greater task to fulfill."

"Supporting Lex?" the secretary said, halfway through the office door.

"Exactly. Our dear Hieronymus needs all the aid he can get. And if things keep going so poorly for me, why, I've no idea how much longer I'll be able to stick around!"

Civello laughed, some of his good nature returning. His quill met the parchment on his desk, and he returned to the endless toil and drudgery or paperwork—he had returned to his element.

* * *

After one and a half weeks of travel, Hieronymus Lex was woken from a light slumber in his supply cart by General Sigrdríf. "Wake up, Imperator," she said, shaking his shoulder, "We've met up with the Easterners."

Lex stood up drowsily, blinking the sleep from his eyes. "I fell asleep?"

The general smiled. "It's unlike you, I know. But come, you've got to rally these new men. They're… Well, not broken yet, I suppose. Regardless, I think your presence would be good for their morale."

Looking outside, Lex noticed two things in particular. First, the mountains had finally given way, and they were in some foothills. It was still a craggy and rocky country, but plants were growing in abundance, all of which seemed alien and mysterious to the imperator. Second, the normally slovenly soldiers of General Sigrdríf had formed two long parallel lines leading down the road. Lex and Sigrdríf left the cart and walked between the now-filed ranks of the VIIth's legionaries, who looked unusually professional and quiet. The Nordic soldiers suddenly saluted Lex in unison, raising their voices in a foreign tongue. Sigrdríf gave Lex a clever smile before gesturing him to walk, which he did, moving towards a solitary man who stood at the end of the line. When the two reached the middle of the line they met another man, dressed in the garb of a high ranking military officer, who bowed to Lex as soon as he drew near. "Imperator Lex," he said, "This is indeed an honor to meet you."

Lex took the compliment awkwardly. "Yes, indeed." He said tersely, and didn't bother to follow up the statement with any sort of reply.

Sigrdríf coughed slightly, "This, Imperator," she began, "Is General Darius of Fort Darius, and the de facto leader of the Empire's eastern legions."

Darius gave a tired smile, "What's left of them, anyway."

The new general had the distinct air of a man who had undergone a great amount of aging in a short amount of time. His shortly cut hair was graying at the temples, his face was laced with several wrinkles, and under his eyes were deep, purple bags. However, he carried himself with a resolute posture, and didn't seem as though he was willing to give in to the stresses of command. The three began to walk between the rest of the soldiers, and Darius talked. "I'm afraid I have much fewer men than we hoped to maintain. Some have chosen to desert and flee into the mountains you just finished crossing, scattering like rabbits rather than face the Dunmeri threat. Worse still, other units have detached into bandits and mercenary corps, perhaps even under the employ of the great houses. The men who have stayed with me are tough and steeled, experts now at fighting the rebels, but our supplies have run dangerously low and will need to be restocked if we're to fight a prolonged campaign."

Lex glanced at Sigrdríf as though he was seeking guidance, but she merely returned his gaze with a manufactured look of a lack of understanding. Lex shot her a confused glare, but before he could register her reply, Darius started to speak again. "I've heard little of your exploits, Imperator, but news of the heartland was always in short supply, especially in an egg-town like Gnisis. May I ask which post you held before taking your title?"

"I was a Guard Captain in the Imperial City," Lex responded, "And also served as the Captain of Anvil's town guard."

Darius didn't respond, and stopped walking. He looked unbelievingly at the imperator and waited for a moment to gather his thoughts. "… Are you to tell me," he hesitantly started, "That you've never held a position in the Imperial Legion proper? That you've never commanded a detachment of troops?"

Before Lex could respond Sigrdríf stepped in, "Trust me, sir, I've spoken to Imperator Lex at length during the travel here. I believe that he has a natural talent at leading."

"Natural talent, miss, does not win a war; especially one with the odds so stacked against us!" Darius said, his voice strained with desperation, "We've been holding out for this, I was certainly expecting something more!"

"Sir, the imperator is fully capable of fighting this battle. He has the blessings of Legion Commander Civello."

"Civello? What does Civello's good word do at all? This is all Civello's fault in the first place-"

"Enough!" Lex hollered out before Darius could finish his statement. Both generals turned and looked at him, and Lex realized to his dismay that he would have to give some sort of speech. "… Regardless of whether or not you want me here, or find me capable, I am here. That fact of the matter isn't going to change. However, this is not the time to argue among ourselves. The Tribunal is the enemy, and with every second we spend in vain we allow them to become more consolidated. Instead of arguing about me, let us argue about tactics."

Darius didn't reply immediately, and looked the younger Imperial in the eyes for several long seconds. Eventually he became content and nodded once. "Very well. We have about a thousand soldiers left, I reckon. Maybe a little bit more. Is your legion still fresh?"

Sigrdríf, who had the oddest expression of satisfaction on her face, replied, "Yes, we're at full strength. And as you know, Darius, the VIIth is good enough that we probably count for two legions. Maybe three."

A smile crossed Darius' weary face. "I'm sure. Well, Imperator, let us head to my tent. I have a map drawn out, and we must begin our discussions on how to organize the attack. I'm sure that General Sigrdríf will be accompanying us?"

"Of course," said the Nord, "Let's get a move on, shall we?"

As the two generals walked towards Darius' camp, Lex spent a moment to look about him. He was surrounded by soldiers, all of whom were fully prepared for war. And further east was Morrowind, in all of its forbidding, mysterious glory. His travel had ended, and soon his true task was to begin. Hieronymus Lex took in a deep breath, and then followed the generals to discuss their plans.

* * *

"I am glad to see that you gentlemen have chosen to join me. As you all know, your crimes are nigh unpardonable. I need not remind you that your executions are scheduled to be done before the week's end. However, after some further reflection, I have decided that your fates should not yet be written in stone. What I have summoned you for is a business proposal. In my hand is an order; an important order which needs to be filled to the letter. If you are able to complete this task given to you, I can promise you a swift and complete acquittal. If you fail, knowledge of your existence will be denied and you will die all the same. Take a moment to choose which path you will take (I personally do not believe it a difficult choice), and return to me when you have decided.

"This is your one final chance, gentlemen. I do hope you do not fail in it."

A small scrap of paper slid across the table. It unfolded itself along the way, causing the contents of the message to be visible in the low light.

_The following people must die-_

_Helseth Hlaalu, King of Mournholde_

_Lady Lynette Flyte of Anticlere_

_Legion Commander Giovanni Civello_


	22. Assassins

Maro Rufus and Varnado had been wandering the mazelike back alleyways of the Imperial City for the greater portion of the afternoon. Both had grown visibly frustrated as they glanced down corridors and looked over the nearly limitless unmarked boxes stacked about the area. The sun was high in the sky, making it an unusually hot day for the late fall, causing Varnado's often testy temper to flare up. "What the hell was Gin-Wulm thinking!?" he cried out, "He said he set the armor behind the Three Brother's, but it doesn't even seem to be in this damn district!"

Maro frowned, and leaned against a nearby wall. "Maybe we've been burgled?"

Varnado didn't respond, preoccupied by looking at a crate and kicking it when he realized it was the wrong one. They were completely alone, with only a stray cat and the far-off calls of a woman, who the Redguard assumed was some whore looking for clientele. "This is just _perfect_. I had work I was going to get done today."

"But we're closed today, right?" Maro asked, starting search his pockets.

"I didn't mean run the store; I meant balancing the ledgers. Don't you still need to do that, Rufus?"

Maro stopped rummaging for a moment and bit his bottom lip. He didn't want to look at his books anytime soon—there was far too much red and far too little black. "… I'll get around to it," he said with a quieter voice.

"You'd better," Varnado snorted, "Unless you want the debt collectors to smash your kneecaps."

Maro paled, but tried not to let himself show his discomfort. Somewhere the scarlet called out again, and Varnado put a hand to his head. "This is useless. Let's head back to the store and talk to Gin there; I simply refuse to waste more time out here."

"Fine. But it's sort of sad to leave without finding the crates," Maro said, standing upright and stretching, "It's sort of like like you failed an adventure-"

Something suddenly caught Varnado's attention, and he held up his hand to stop Maro in mid-sentence. "Rufus," he asked, his features taunt and focused, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Be quiet and listen."

Maro closed his eyes and paid attention to the noise of the City. It was surprising what one could hear if they merely focused; somewhere a horse was trotting down a cobbled path, a far-off hammer was striking an anvil, there was even the sound of…

The Imperial's eyes shot open as he heard it again. The voice of the woman cried out once more, but this time Maro could make out the word she was shrieking. Somewhere to the east her voice called out "_**Help**_;" however, the single syllable was laced with such an unusual panic and frantic gravity that it made Maro's blood run cold. He gave an unusually serious glance to his companion, who in return gave Maro a quick nod. The two of them broke out into a run as they made their way towards the east and the woman in distress.

Quickly making their way through the labyrinthine, the two swiftly closed in on the sound. As they grew closer other sounds could be made out—The clash of metal on metal, the terrible hissing of something vile, and the increasingly hysterical wails of the woman in peril. Something of this magnitude hardly ever hit such well-to-do neighborhoods, Varnado thought, until his mind's conjectures were interrupted by the sound of a bloody gurgle. Maro noticed Varnado draw his old legionary short sword he kept on himself for protection, and the Imperial did likewise.

They turned one more corner and suddenly stopped. The two both quickly surveyed the scene. At one end of the corridor there was the sprawled corpse of a knight with red, flame decorated armor and a horrible pool of blood under him, slowly seeping between the cracks of the cobbled path. Nearby a similarly garbed knight was fighting a terrible beast; some sort of Argonian perhaps, but sinister and frenzied, stabbing with two knives at once. The speed of the beastman was clearly superior to the guard's, who was frantically trying to parry the increasingly swift blows. And at the opposite end of the narrow street, near the shopkeepers, was a lady clad in blue, fallen to the ground and weeping profusely. Maro felt his heart clench in fear. "Lady Flyte!" he called, his own voice now carrying the same dread that the woman's did.

Lady Flyte screamed incomprehensibly in return. "Focus, Rufus!" Varnado shouted out, "We're trained to handle this, look at the battle at hand—"

The end of Varnado's comment never came, as he took an involuntary step back at the savage dance the Argonian was undertaking. With a handful of quick, determined moves, the murderer struck at the hand of the guard, disarming him. The Breton yelped in pain, and a split second later he was silent. One of the Argonian's small, thin knives left a red path across his opponent's throat, and the knight fell to the ground, his own blood further staining the stones.

Lady Flyte screamed once more, and Varnado took a step forward. The Argonian turned towards them. His two blades were dripping red, and as he drew closer Maro could make out the metallic smell of the fallen's blood. The terrifying beast gave something that was akin to a vicious smile, and made a terrible laughing sound. But rather than being disheartened, Maro looked towards his companion. "What's the plan?"

"We'll charge from both sides," he muttered quietly, "Whoever he parries will back off, and the other will finish him. Watch out."

"I got you," Maro said, readying his sword.

The Argonian hissed again, and clashed the two daggers together. Varnado broke into a quick sprint, and Maro followed in an attempt to flank the beast. They quickly drew within striking range, but to a less than ideal result. Varnado swung his sword, and the Argonian artfully dodged, hopping back faster than the Redguard could have anticipated. Maro took a swing himself, only to have the blade clank uselessly as it smacked into one of the daggers. Both shopkeepers tried to steady themselves, but it was already too late—the Argonian sprung forward with a howl in a cruel attempt to skewer Maro with both of his weapons.

However, he hadn't counted on Maro's chain shirt, hidden under his street clothes. The blades managed to pierce through the light armor, but only scored superficial wounds near the Imperial's chest. Maro flinched as the pain shot into him, but a fresh surge of adrenaline helped to score a glancing blow on the beastman's leg.

Tha Argonian limped back, dropping one dagger to clench at his leg. It was all the opening Varnado needed. The Redguard sped in again, and this time the wound Maro inflicted interfered with his opponent's speed. The Argonian looked in horror as Varnado's blade severed the air and sliced him directly between the eyes. The Argonian made several frantic shrieks of terror, but it was to avail as he collapsed onto the ground, his legs continuing to kick for several seconds. Varnado looked to Maro in concern as his breath began to steady. "Rufus, you're hurt," he said.

Maro shook his head. "I'll be fine. How are the two soldiers?"

Varnado looked over the two bodies quickly. "Dead."

Maro glanced towards Lady Flyte, who looked at them both pitifully. Her makeup was smeared by tears and her beautiful blue dress hung about her in tatters. Her mouth was slightly ajar and trembling, and it seemed as though she couldn't even stand. "You go call the guards," Maro said, "And I'll bring Lady Flyte back to the shop."

"Move quickly," Varnado said, "We have no idea how many more of these… Lizards are after her."

Maro nodded seriously. Ignoring the bitter pain that was inching its way deeper and deeper into his chest, he scooped Lady Flyte into his arms, who offered no resistance whatsoever. With hardly a thought, Maro worked his way into the main drag of the Imperial City, and moved towards his shop. He garnered more than a few odd looks, but he paid them no mind until he reached the door to the Best Defense, set the mentally scathed young woman onto a sturdy chair, bolted the door twice, and sank deeply into the seat behind his desk, where he remained until Varnado arrived some hours later.

* * *

Helseth Hlaalu's room at the Tiber Septem was more than adequate for his tastes. After spending years in Morrowind, languishing in his drafty palace in the middle of a fundamentalist, semi-barbaric stronghold, he began to yearn for the comforts that he once took for granted along the Iliac Bay. The Imperial City, however, completely blew away his expectations, and in the few moments he had not plotting for his nephew's bid for Emperor, he found himself content to look over the timeless capital.

Seated with him was his pale-skinned sister Morgiah, who he had sent for as soon as the wars in West had started. The two overlooked the city as they ate a light meal, making conversation and laughing. One of the two guards, the former guard captain of Mournhold, Tienius Delitian, tried his hardest to stay out of the way, as Morgiah was really the only person Helseth ever allowed himself to lower his guard around. The other, a stoic Redguard, said nothing.

"It's hard to believe, though," Helseth said, the happiness in his voice trailing off, "That everything could go so poorly so quickly. Goranthir is going to have to pull some of his own weight if we're going to get him on the throne."

Morgiah laughed, her voice possessing a sort of beautiful cruelty of only someone who had sold their soul to Molag Bal could muster. "Do not worry, brother," she said, "My dear son will most definitely be able to shove back the allegations the Man from Argonia is making against him. Everyone knows that Firsthold is still loyal, even if the rest of the isles are hellbent on being annihilated. The Empire won't fall so easily."

"With luck," Helseth said, eating an olive, "But all the common man is capable of is holding back true greatness. And Servius knows how to play to the common man better than we do. My dear, it is not the council that will determine this little intrigue; the unwashed masses will."

Morigah made a face. "But surely there is some dirty secret that Servius has that we can use against him? The people," she said with more than a hint of disdain, "Are as fast to abandon a champion as they are to adopt one."

Helseth thought for a moment before replying. As he made his response, the door opened, and an Argonian butler made his way into the room, holding a bottle of fine wine. "Perhaps. But Servius is an Imperial. And his official record is flawless. He even seemed to be quite the golden boy when he was still in Anticlere."

The wan lady laughed again. Delitian was by no means an innocent man, but even he felt a shiver run down his spine when he heard the noise. The Redguard didn't seem to notice. "Then we'll fabricate something," Morigah said, holding an empty wineglass away from her body to be filled, "People, especially Imperials, are sheep. They will believe anything we say, granted it is scandalous enough."

The butler filled Morigah's glass, the deep red wine filling the vessel to the brim. His scaly hand was steady, however, he silently cast his silted eye towards Helseth, who seemed to be fully engaged in his conversation with the terrible lady. The Argonian began to pour the wine into Helseth's goblet, while the former king responded to his sister. "You've certainly become overconfident over these years, my dear sister," Helseth mused, "Servius is too crafty to write off so easily."

"Overconfident?" Morgiah said, taking false offense, "Why, brother, how could you say such a thing!"

Helseth smiled thinly and shook his head. With a deft twist of the bottle, the Argonian stoppedpouring the wine, and gave a quick bow to the nobles. Helseth looked at the drink, and swirled the contents of his goblet idly. "To think…" he said softly, "Soon I may have the power over so many people… The power of Emperor…"

The butler did not yet leave the room, and watched Helseth closely.

"The power to shape the face of Tamriel… To change the fate of the world…"

Morgiah nodded, as the Argonian's breath became slightly shallower, laced with concern.

"It's everything I ever dreamed of…" he muttered, bringing the wine closer to his lips.

The Argonian leaned forward despite himself in anticipation.

Helseth smiled towards his sister. He held out the goblet to her. "To our victory."

Helseth Hlaalu then took the glass and brought it to his lips. The Argonian quickly relaxed and made his way to the door. The beastfolk's breathing became steady once more, and his blood was a cold as ever. However, before he could quite reach the door, he heard a voice from the table behind him. Helseth was still speaking, but that wasn't too much of a surprise. What did surprise the butler were the specific words the former king said. "Oh, Karrod?" he called out dispassionately, "Kill that lizard, will you?"

The Argonian snapped his head back towards the table, but the stoic Redguard was already behind him, appearing so quickly it seemed like teleportation. Before the butler could factor what had happened in his mind, the guard launched a quick snapping punch at his neck. The Argonian made a startled cry and fell to the ground, spasming frantically in pain and desperation. Delitian, his face concerned and startled, moved his foot forward to get a closer look, but Helseth waved him off, watching the scene intently. Morgiah moved her hand to cover her mouth, which had turned into a very amused smile. The Argonian continued his struggles for a few more seconds before his body became more and more sluggish, and eventually became very still. Helseth clapped once. "Excellent. Can you take that filthy thing out now?"

Karrod nodded and picked up the corpse. He silently made his way out of the room, leaving Morgiah with such a light in her eyes that it seemed as though she was an innocent young girl witnessing a beautiful sunrise. Delitian instinctively moved towards Helseth to investigate, but saw his employer pour his goblet out onto the floor, and action which his sister quickly copied. "A very subtle poison. Foxglove leaves mixed with moonseed. Completely tasteless. It requires a very fine tongue to make out the miniscule change in the texture of the liquid. A really fine effort," he said drolly, placing the goblet back on the table, "And it certainly requires a great amount of audacity to try to poison _me, _but it was all in vain. Go downstairs and fetch us another bottle, would you Delitian?"

The guard blinked, and worked for a moment to try to make a coherent sentence. "S-sire, the wine was poisoned?"

"What, are you deaf? Of course it was poisoned. I just said so. The filthy animal must've done it, on the orders of some competitor, no doubt. It's all very easy to make out."

Morgiah gave the guard a particularly harsh smile, as though it was dipped in the very poison which intended to take her life. "My brother has a knack for alchemy, but you knew that, didn't you, Tienius?"

Delitian bowed his head, "I am… deeply sorry for allowing such an affront to happen," he began, his voice heavy with shame, "I am willing to—"

Helseth shook his head. "Enough of that," he said, "Self-pity doesn't suit you. If you want to make amends, go and fetch me some more wine. Surilie, vintage 389. I'm dreadfully thirsty, as is my sister; you know how little I enjoy watching her suffer." Morgiah gave another hyena smile.

Delitian opened his mouth to say something, but chose instead to listen to his lord. "Yes, sire. At once."

As the guard left, Morgiah leaned back in her chair, apparently content at the day's entertainment. "Oh my, this certainly is getting quite heated, isn't it, Brother?"

"Quite," Helseth replied, looking much less amused, "I suppose we'll need to find a tester for our food as well. What a bother."

Morgiah laughed, with what could be considered cheer to the select few who knew her, but seemingly with malice to anyone else, "It's just like we've gone back to Wayrest! I do believe that this will be a very interesting campaign, don't you?"

Helseth didn't respond at first, brooding silently while closely inspecting an olive. "Yes, I can say with utmost certainty," he said, "That this will indeed be at least interesting. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to pay a quick visit to the Courier. I have a story they are most certainly interested in."

With that, he tossed the morsel into his mouth and rose from his chair, his regal robes trailing imperiously behind him as though he were already the lord of the realm.

* * *

Habasi knew that trying to steal a boat in broad daylight was rather audacious, but when she calculated the odds of getting into position later this night, it was clear that the sooner she arrive at a tactical point in the bay, the better. She had found a small rowboat at the Waterfront that had once belonged to Agrippa, and had the seal of the Census and Exercise put on the boat tie, who had apparently moved in to repossess it.

She realized it was slightly more audacious to steal from the _Empire _in broad daylight, but it really couldn't be helped.

As she crouched down to start to untie the ropes, she growled to herself. When she was a kitten she had heard rumors of ghost ships in the ocean before, filled with terrible spirits who would fly ashore to make animals sick and to steal sugar, but she had stopped believing in such nonsense a very long time ago. Her personal credo was one of absolute realism, which made her all the more infuriated that she was so low on leads she needed to go looking into a story which was probably concocted by a drunk sailor.

She silently cursed again as she tried to undo Agrippa's knot and glanced at the sea. As her mind started to slip into memories of bygone days, her thief senses kicked into overdrive as she heard a voice from over her shoulder. "What do you think _you're _doing," it said, sounding very unamused.

Habasi looked behind her in fright to see a Redguard looking down on her, his face covered in a totally unexpected smile. "Got you, Habasi," he said with a quick laugh, "You're losing your touch."

"Christophe!" Habasi hissed, "Why must you torment her so! Leave now, there is important work to be done!"

"Like stealing a boat?" Christophe inquired, "That was Agrippa's, so I suppose it's the Guild's now. And you mustn't steal from your fellow thieves; you know that, kitten."

Habasi's feline mouth contorted into a scowl. "Christophe knows nothing. Habasi needs this boat. She thinks she knows the source of the felshine."

"Ah, I see," Christophe said, putting his foot atop the boat tie, "So you're commandeering it for a noble cause? I'm afraid you'll still need permission from the local doyen to do that."

"Christophe…" Habasi growled, closing her eyes in a building anger.

"Now don't get all antsy," Christophe said, his voice still filled with a playful mocking, "You can take it. I'm tacking on a condition, though."

"Habasi is no shape to play your games!" the Kahjiit snapped.

"I'm not playing," Christophe replied, now more serious, "In fact, this is a rather grave matter. For this little errand, I'm going to be accompanying you."

"What!?" Habasi all but shrieked, "No, not with you again! _Never _with you again!"

Christophe hopped into the boat. "I'm afraid you have no choice. I do outrank you," he said, his cheer completely gone, "Now, let the past die and come along with me. After all, you're looking for a ghost ship, right? You might need some help."

Habasi growled again and didn't respond for some time. She finally hopped into the boat after undoing the knot, but didn't immediately speak to Christophe. "… Habasi is going to go. Christophe can follow her if he wishes."

"That's what I thought," Christophe replied with a hint of a sneer, "Let's be off."

"Just don't slow her down," Habasi muttered, then used one of her feet to kick the boat off from the edge of the docks. She grabbed the oars and started to move off into the lake and towards the slowly setting sun.

* * *

"My, my, it is hot as blazes today, isn't it?" declared Giovanni Civello, "I do believe that I'll need to get something to drink by the afternoon!"

His companion, a dour looking guardsman, said nothing, instead scanning the surrounding area. The streets of the Imperial City were always crowded, and during such an unusually hot autumn day tempers flared easily and violence could potentially be anywhere. Civello took out a handkerchief from his armor and patted at his pale, pudgy skin. "And it's a dry heat, too. Most uncooperative for our purposes."

The legion commander was no fool, and knew that boarding himself solely in his cool, pleasant chambers was not exactly an option. He needed to be on the streets, both to provide the illusion that he was active and on duty (He privately thought that being on the streets was not the proper place for the legion commander, but Phillida had often done so during his tenure, and Civello knew every commander was going to have to more or less operate in the fallen giant's shadow), as well as to listen to the gossip on the streets. It was important to see what the common people thought of Lex, and perhaps more importantly, what they thought of Erasmus Servius.

But there was very little luck today. No one was outside under the sun if they could help it, and most who were spoke of the famine, as well as the totally failed pumpkin harvest. Bad news for the Elder Council and it's extremely fragile rule, but totally irrelevant to Civello's aims. He was just about to tell the guardsman alongside him to start to head back to the Bastion, but the hefty Imperial stopped as he felt a light tugging at the fabric that decorated his armor. He turned around to see a little boy, no more than six, with an extremely plaintive look on his face. "Please, mister," he began, his tiny voice trying to veil his crying-induced hiccups, "My kitten ran down that alley, and I can't find her and I love her and I miss her."

Civello kneeled down and gave the boy a reassuring look. "Your kitten, eh? I'm sorry, m'lad. Do you need help finding her?"

"P-Please," the boy said, nearly whispering, "She's my best friend."

The commander winked a beady eye. "Don't worry, son. Legion Commander Civello never lets an innocent come to harm; kittens included."

The boy's eyes lit up, "D'you mean it!?" he said with a growing excitement.

"I sure do. You said she's over in that alley?"

The boy nodded. As Civello walked down into the alleyway, noticed his companion try to stop him. "Sir," the guardsman began, "Is this really worth your—?"

Civello frowned, "This is excellent public relations," he said under his breath, "Don't go ruin it by getting in the way. Be sure to emphasize my kindness when I come back."

"But sir-!"

"Now, none of that. This is going to be simple," Civello said, giving one of his silly grins as he walked into the alleyway, "And I gave my word I'd find that cat. And I always keep my word; even if it kills me!"


	23. The Walrus' Bellow

Maro didn't know if he had ever endured a more awkward silence. He sat at his desk, worriedly stroking his quill pen while looking about his shop. Across the room Varnado was leaning against the wall near his own desk, tapping his foot lightly while giving occasional glances out the window. The source of this whole debacle sat in the back of the room atop an old chair. Maro looked Lynette Flyte over quickly, and if he hadn't brought the woman to the shop himself, he would've sworn it would've been someone else. She had changed out of her beautiful blue dress into one of Maro's spare outfits, a drab brown and made of a rather uncomfortable hempen cloth. She had wiped her face off with a towel, removing all her painstakingly applied cosmetics and making her features look quite plain. Even her hair, which normally was done up in a complicated series of cheerful braids, now hang limp at her sides, and was still somewhat dirty. Her face was still covered with a frightened frown, and she hadn't said a word for the entire time she had been in the shop.

In all, she looked as though she was some peasant girl, and it broke Maro's heart.

Out of the blue, Varnado slammed his fist onto his desk, shattering the silence. "Where _are _the guards? I must've called for them at least an hour ago!"

Maro shrugged. "Maybe they got holed up somewhere. Maybe there was an even bigger crime."

"Bigger than an attempted assassination of a noble lady?" Varnado snorted, "I have trouble believing that."

"I guess," the Imperial said, "But there's no use getting angry over this. We just have to wait, you know?"

Varnado glanced out the window again. "Ridiculous…" he muttered.

More time passed. Maro set down his quill only to start drumming his fingers immediately after. Varnado clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Whatever is keeping these guards," he said at last, "Must certainly be something big."

Lady Flyte looked up. "It very well may be," she said with a quavering voice, starting to get off her seat.

Maro stood with a start. "My lady," he called out, "Please, don't exert yourself—"

"Its fine, Mr. Rufus," Lady Flyte said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. "Tell me, Mr. Varnado, did you see anything… Unusual as you spoke to the guards?"

Varnado withheld a smirk. 'Even after all this,' he thought, 'She's still able to investigate and plot. Only a Flyte.' He then tilted his head in thought. "Well, there seemed to be a sort of… Energy bustling around the city," he began, slowly choosing his words, "Like something was happening. But I can't say for sure. Why?"

Lady Flyte's eyes shimmered, her previous fear and melancholy all quickly leaving. "I see," she replied, disregarding Varnado's question.

"My lady," Maro began, "You don't think that anyone else was hurt, do you…?"

"I cannot say," she responded, "But for all I know, there very well may be—"

She immediately severed her sentence as she heard the belabored creaking of the shop's front door. All three turned their gaze towards the entrance, to see what visitor had arrived. As the door opened, Maro's blood ran cold as a clawed hand entered the room, the scales on it glistening in the low light. "Argonian!" he cried as he unsheathed his sword.

At that word, Varnado followed suit, resolutely fixing his vision on the emerging reptilian figure. Lady Flyte's response was a piercing, horrified shriek as she made a frantic and inelegant spring to the nearest cover. The moment of terror ended as quickly as it had began, though, when an exasperated voice broke the silence. "Argh!" a familiar voice called out, "Why do you brandish your weapons so!?"

Maro's anger subsided. "Gin? Is that you?"

Entering the room was Gin-Wulm, who looked less than pleased. "Of course it is! Who else would it be!?"

Varnado gave a sigh of relief as he sheathed his blade. "Forgive us, Gin. It's been a stressful day. You can come out now, my lady," he said, casting a glance over his shoulder, "This man here is not your enemy; he's our business partner."

Once again looking equal parts pitiful and horrified, Lynette Flyte peeked out from the counter she was cowering behind. "B-business partner?" she stuttered.

"Yes," Maro said, letting his guard down, "He's on our side."

Lady Flyte opened her lips slightly in comprehension, and then tried to stand up as nonchalantly as possible. "I see," she stammered while trying in vain to adjust her hair and shabby clothing in a fashion suiting a woman of her station, "I am glad to hear that."

Gin-Wulm blinked at Lady Flyte's actions. "Who's the woman?" he asked, "She one of yours?"

Lady Flyte blushed at that, while Maro's face turned a shade even redder. "_No!_" he cried out with an awkward amount of force.

Varnado put a hand to his face in embarrassment as Lady Flyte became even more scandalized. Gin-Wulm made a facial expression about as close to the rising of an eyebrow as an Argonian can muster, but before the situation deteriorated any further, Varnado stepped in. "She's just a girl in a little trouble," he said as casually as possible, "But by the by, where did you put the armor shipment? Rufus and I looked for most of the day, but we found nothing."

"Eh?" Gin-Wulm replied, "I thought I told you I put it near Umbacano's old place. But it won't matter now; the city has gone entirely mad. Assassins are striking."

The three all exchanged grave looks to each other before looking back to Gin-Wulm. "Assassins?" Varnado ventured at last.

"Yes, assassins. They're targeting important people, apparently. I don't know, though, as all the guards are being tight-lipped about the whole thing. Entire sections of the city are being locked down, I hear. Rumor has it that we won't be able to leave the markets until tomorrow," the Argonian said, taking off his jacket, "So I hope you two don't mind if I spend the night here."

Varnado shook his head. "Not at all."

Gin-Wulm nodded and started to make himself at home. Meanwhile, Varnado walked towards Lady Flyte, whose complexion was rather pale. "My lady," he began, "Given these circumstances, I think it would be best that you also stay in this store tonight."

Lady Flyte looked horrified. "Stay here? Alone, with two fully grown men, without a chaperone? Do you have _any _idea what that would do to my reputation?"

Varnado gave quick glances at Gin-Wulm, who seemed to be fully engrossed in finding the store's food supply, and Maro, who seemed very intrigued and slightly jealous that Varnado was having such a hushed conversation with his beloved lady. While he still had time before Maro decided to investigate, Varnado spoke again. "… Please, my lady, given the current state of the city, it would be wise for you to stay here."

"Wise?" she replied, looking more hassled than she had ever been in her life, "_Wise? _Mr. Varnado, I don't think that you realize the position I'm in—"

"The position you're in?" Varnado cut in, "You mean the fact that your life is in danger? Listen, I've been in the legions. I know what it's like to have your life in peril, and I know that you have to do _everything _in your power to live, regardless of what some gossip starts. There are trained killers who have you in their sights. This is _not _the time to be foolish!"

The lady opened her mouth in protest, her eyes slightly pained, but she realized that she couldn't think of a single reason to leave the relative safety of the store, without guards, and try to reach her lodgings when more assassins might be combing the city. "I…" she muttered, without spirit, "I… Expect to have my own private room."

"That goes without saying, miss," Varnado said with a small sigh of relief.

By this point, Maro had taken the initiative to go and figure out what the two were talking about. By the time he had arrived, Varnado was already returning about his business. "Rufus, we still got those bedrolls?" he asked idly.

"Um… I think so," he said, not really expecting the question, "In the basement. Why?"

"Grab three," Varnado replied, "We're sleeping downstairs tonight."

"How come?" Maro inquired, sounding somewhat irritated.

Varnado bit his lip and thought for a good moment. He opened his mouth to respond, but then thought the better of it and closed it again. He did this two more times before he sighed and said as quickly as possible. "Because Lady Flyte is going to be sleeping upstairs."

Maro took a few seconds to take the information in, and then promptly panicked. "L-Lady Flyte!? Upstairs!? Why didn't you tell me this sooner!? I've got to get it ready!"

The young Imperial ran upstairs as fast as his leg would take him, spending more than a few moments fiddling with the doorknob, unable to use it well in his nervousness. Lady Flyte wasn't paying attention, and stood nibbling at her thumbnail. Gin-Wulm walked slowly over to Varnado and leaned on the counter, watching the panicking Imperial "That Maro Rufus," he said, shaking his head, "He's one weird guy."

"Yes," Varnado admitted with a sigh, "I know that all too well."

* * *

Lex stood at one end of a large table, over which was a large map of Morrowind. At the other end was General Darius, who was setting several tokens of various sorts on top of the map. Sigrdríf stood at Lex's side, looking more professional in Darius' presence than she ever was in his own. Eventually, when the map had been readied, Darius began his report. "We are here, in the Velothi District," he said, gesturing near the border of Morrowind, "And we have the strength of roughly two and a half legions. Morale in my ranks isn't very high, but the general here has assured me that her soldiers are far more eager."

Sigrdríf nodded, and Darius continued. "We are in a… Very perilous position. We've been trying to fight a war of attrition, but it's taken a deadly toll. This is the Dunmer's own land, after all. They can outlast us, I am sure. And every additional day we spend at arms means the countryside becomes more desolated, which in turn alienates us from an already uncooperative people. Do you understand this, imperator?"

"I do."

"Good. Now, the enemy expected you to take a less audacious path. As we speak they're sending a chunk of their forces a good deal south of our present position, near Kift Pass. Of course, it will not take them long to realize their mistake. Now, the rest of their forces have moved to defend their borders, yet there is one major exception to this. It seems like Fedris Hler has called for an armed forces review."

"A review?" Lex asked.

"Yes," replied Darius, "Centered here, on the shores of Cormaris Lake. Apparently the Tribunal Temple isn't happy with all the great houses' infighting, and have scheduled this to promote unity and oneness. But it isn't that simple. They knew that you were coming, and wanted this large army, composed of all five houses, to scare you off."

Lex looked at the little lake on the map. It looked so small, but there were dozens of little enemy markers sitting on it, looking like a miniature storm cloud. Sigrdríf pointed to the lake. "They outnumber us, naturally."

Darius gave a serious nod. "Five-to-one is a conservative estimate. They're most likely larger."

"Not to mention an army that is more diverse," added Sigrdríf.

Darius sighed. "Honestly, part of me wants to just retreat and rally more forces in Cyrodiil. With more troops, we might stand a chance."

"Not an option," said Lex, "If we retreat, it'll show the Dunmer that we're weak. You never run from a criminal, no matter how threatening. Doing so will only give them spirit."

"Then what would you suggest, sir?" Darius replied, his voice dripping with war-weariness.

Lex stared at the map for several seconds. He glanced at his side to Sigrdríf, who had a half amused smile on her face, which she allowed to grow when she made eye contact. Confused at the general's odd habits, Lex looked once more at the map, and especially at the words "Cormaris Lake". At last, he spoke. "We attack," Lex said, half-certain.

"… Attack?" Darius managed.

"Yes," the imperator responded, now slightly more secure in his response, "We attack. Swift, decisive action is needed. At the moment, the most important Dunmer leaders are at Cormaris, and a good amount of their forces are still going south in a futile attempt to intercept us. If we can attack here and give them a deep wound, it might be enough to put a deep gash in their will to fight."

Darius shook his head. "But, imperator, think of the opposing strength. We'd be annihilated."

"Possibly. But we'll never win if we don't take the risk. Besides, I don't think the enemy is prepared for such a swift strike."

"I agree with Imperator Lex," Sigrdríf's voice chimed in, "If we attack now, we will have the benefit of surprise. We can even encamp on the mountains, giving us an advantage of terrain."

Darius frowned. "Of course, general, you of all people would want to press the attack against such a foe—."

"This has nothing to do with my personal opinions, sir," she responded, "I leave them aside when I don the uniform. But even you can admit that the bulk of the rebel's army is lying right in front of us. If we don't score a strong victory from the outset, we'll let them control the tempo of this war. I think we need to show them what the Deathshed and the VIIth are capable of."

Darius closed his eyes. Lex noticed that his eye sockets seemed shrunken and hollow, giving him an almost pitiful expression. "… I do not agree with this strategy. But, imperator, if you so order it, I will use all my might to ensure its success."

"I'm counting on you, general," Lex said, trying to keep his voice soft.

Darius gave a long, pained sigh. "So be it. We will discuss the Battle of Cormaris Lake in detail in these coming days."

Sigrdríf leaned forward, her face anxious, like a young child who had been promised a present. "If we start marching tomorrow, how long do you think it will take us? Pressing the troops as hard as we can, of course."

The male general gave her a wary look. "Four days. Perhaps three, if you push them to the limit."

"I say we do it. That'll keep the element of surprise fresh. Don't you agree, Hieronymus?" she said, now looking downright excited.

The imperator, however, gave her a glance just as suspicious as Darius'. "We'll move at a speed that doesn't compromise the fighting ability of the troops."

"A wise decision," said Darius. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I need to prepare some things if we are to be leaving tomorrow."

"At sunrise, naturally," stated a still excited Sigrdríf.

"Naturally," muttered Darius, his expression an equal mixture of fatigue and disdain.

"I'll leave you to your work, then," said Lex, "Dismissed."

As Sigrdríf and Lex walked outside, the latter couldn't help but notice his partner's zeal. Her eyes shone with a powerful resolve, and her step had a newfound spring to it. "You seem quite pleased," he said as the two walked towards the area that their tents were to be pitched.

"Of course I am!" replied the general, "I didn't expect this to be so productive. Darius is a pretty solid commander, but he's a _complete_ xenophile. He's spent so much time in Morrowind, in that godforsaken Vvardenfel, no less, that I doubt he really wants to put the rebels in their proper place."

"But you wished to fight the Dunmeri threat?"

"Of course. It's my professional obligation to destroy anyone who threatens good, imperial rule."

"Your desire being purely professional, correct?"

Sigrdríf noticed what Lex was getting at and flashed him a stunning smile. "What other kind would there be?"

Lex's eyes narrowed again. She seemed altogether too pleased with this course of action. "I'm really rather glad, you know," she said, "It's like… Why, it's like I was you, ferreting out a thieves' guild hideout."

Lex shook his head. "I think that there's a large difference between the two scenarios."

"I don't," the general quipped playfully. "Now, imperator, I'd really love to continue this conversation, but I need to get quite a bit of work done if battle is to be joined in less than a fortnight. So would you be adverse to me taking my leave?"

The Imperial looked the general in the eyes. Like everything else about her, they seemed cool and fresh, like a layer of newly fallen snow. But although there was a mirthfulness that shimmered in there, he could also make out a great power. The sort of power which had interrogated him during their first meeting. Indeed, the happiness Sigrdríf radiated reminded Lex less of a joyful young woman, but more of a warrior extending a challenge. And Lex had absolutely no idea what to make of it. "Dismissed, general."

"Thank you," she said. With that, she turned her back, and walked to where most of the VIIth had encamped.

Lex allowed himself a moment to ponder before turning around. Before he could get far, though, he heard Sigrdríf's voice calling for him. "Oh, imperator!"

He turned his head to see the general wave towards him, her dazzling smile still on her face. "I wasn't kidding about wanting to continue the conversation. Please, drop by my tent at any time."

A moment passed while Lex took in the information, and then nodded. Sigrdríf seemed content, and made her way towards the tents, with no returning this time. Lex's mind was a beehive of activity as he walked back. There was the threat of the upcoming battle, and the looming possibility of death it offered him. It was Kirania's accusations, still echoing in his skull. But now he thought of Sigrdríf, too. How she seemed to perfect, like a flower frozen in a sheet of ice, but had such a bizarre undercurrent about herself. Such viciousness! He recalled a previous conversation he had with her, where she said almost with relish that she couldn't be trusted. Like Civello, she was a true enigma.

'But is she my ally?' thought Lex, 'Or my enemy?'

* * *

The Count Umbranox silently brooded in his chair. He could hardly believe the nerve of the provincials. After being manhandled and essentially thrown into a cargo ship when he and his wife were deported from the Summerset Iles, the elves had the supreme gall to set them not on their home soil of Anvil, but deep into Hammerfell territory. The captain of the ship, a haughty looking Altmer with, in the count's opinion, horrible teeth, said that they were "Close enough."

Within moments he and his wife were captured, and now were locked away in Sentinel Keep. Granted, though, they lived in conditions that were equivalent of honored guests. They were waited upon by servants, their meals were the same dishes that were served to King Lhotun, and the creature comforts actually exceeded those they had in Anvil. But no matter how much you gild a prison, it is still a prison. That is what the count believed, at any rate.

As he quietly shouldered, he heard the door to his room open. Not uncommon, as handmaidens came in and out at regular intervals. This time, however, was different, as two Redguards came in. One was young with an arrogance to his eyes that can only be held by someone who was lucky enough to taste success, but inexperienced enough not to know what it felt like to fall. The other was the complete opposite—an elderly man who had a world-weary expression, as though his glory days were far behind him, and never coming back. Both were clad in the regalia of mid-level chambermen. Count Umbranox stood, as this was the first time any sort of official had come to greet him during his captivity. "My dear count!" exclaimed the younger man, extending his arms as though he were awaiting an embrace, "It is so good to finally meet you!"

The count stood and shot the younger man a look that could melt steel. It would've fazed a different man, but the boy was too young and too drunk with achievement to be effected. "Indeed," the count began with venom, "I am overjoyed to meet the men who have imprisoned me. Perhaps you might even deign to grant me the privilege of your name?"

The boy's smile widened, and took on an even more cruel quality. "But of course. My name is Ghabi. My partner here is Jaban. Go bring the count and I some wine, will you?" he said condescendingly to his partner, "The finest bottle we have, and be quick about it."

Jaban bowed his head and left the room. Ghabi took a seat near the count, but Count Umbranox refused to sit down. "I do hope," the Redguard began, "That you are enjoying your stay?"

"I'm paralyzed with happiness," the count spat.

"As you should be. You are sitting in the most luxurious palace on Nirn. You see your linens over there? They are in fact imported from the finest Breton workshops. And your furniture? Grandmaster carved masterpieces from rare, ancient wood from the depth of the Black Marsh. Even this bottle," he said, gesturing to the older man as he arrived, "Is from the Golden Sand Vineyard, the finest in all of Hammerfell. Not that you would know the difference."

Ghabi poured himself a glass of wine, "It's a fantastic view you have as well. You can see the entire city from here. Have you noticed all the new construction projects? The spoils from our war with Wayrest. We're besieging the city even as we speak, in case you hadn't heard the news. And soon the three great powers of the Iliac will become two, and eventually one. Its destiny, I believe."

The count barely replied. His focus was on the elderly Jaban, who didn't share his companion's optimistic zeal about the future. The younger Redguard, however, continued talking as though he enjoyed the sound of his own voice. "The Third Era," he said in a speech as rehearsed as it was ignored, "Is coming to an end. The age of Cyrodiil is over. The strength of the Empire has all but evaporated. Soon, Sentinel will rise as a bold, powerful new nation, one completely and totally unfettered by your damnedable empire. It's Cyrus' dream come to total fruition."

The older man still didn't seem enthused. The count made a mental note of it. "Your overconfidence is embarrassing, child."

That apparently wasn't the response that Ghabi was expecting, or the one he hoped. "What?"

"I told you that you're making a fool of yourself. You'd best leave this sort of gloating to your elders," the count said, totally unamused.

Count Umbranox glanced again at the elder Redguard, who seemed somewhat happy that the boy was being put in his place. The count made a mental note of this as well as the younger Redguard clenched his fist. "How _dare _you take that tone to me!"

"I dare to because I am a great deal older and wiser than you," said the count dryly, "And know what idiots children can be. I really should be asking you that question, what gives a spoiled whelp like you the authority to challenge me?"

Pressing the young into such idiotic ramblings was enjoyable, the count mused, although it was a bit too easy. "Silence!" the younger yelled, half begging, "_I _am in control here! You know nothing of the position that your people are in!"

"I know that the discipline of the legions can always overcome some sellswords," said the count, "And I know that with children like you running this nation, it is bound to fall sooner rather than later."

Ghabi stood up, now angry. The count smiled internally. The boy had been totally baited by only a few sentences. He was one of the weakest men the count had met in years. "You enjoy your arrogance while you can! But soon, soon your little nation will die! And then you _will _change your tone. You are a rusty old antique, never forget that!" he yelled as he made his way to the door.

"Do not yourself forget," the count added, "That getting cut by rust is bound to give you tetanus."

"Witty to the end, eh?" the young man scowled, "Well, we'll just see how witty you are when your little armies are wiped away. Come, Jaban! We're leaving!"

The count noticed that Jaban looked slightly less old as he left the room. As silence filled the airy chambers, Count Umbranox returned to his seat and started to think. Sentinel was in odd times when such easily manipulated fools were in positions of great power. And his mind couldn't leave that one older man, who looked almost… sympathetic to the Imperial cause.

Imprisonment can be enlightening, the count decided, and for the first time since his arrival helped himself to one of the many fresh fruits laid out for him from a beautiful ebony bowl.

* * *

Giovanni Civello moved slowly through the back alley. It was a lonely, quiet stretch of road, seemingly devoid of any life, kitten or otherwise. His footsteps echoed off the stone walls at his as he walked further into the area, and he suddenly had the oddest sensation that he was in some sort of Ayleid tomb-city. He shivered once, and tried to push such thoughts aside. "Here, kitten!" Civello called out, "Come on, girl! Come out and greet uncle Giovanni!"

There was no response other than his own words, bouncing from wall to wall and becoming ever fainter. He kept walking, looking up and down the empty alley, and slowly becoming less and less comfortable. "Where is everyone…" he muttered to himself as he looked behind an old, broken barrel.

There was still nothing besides the raspy sound of Civello's own breathing and the slow dripping of some far-off drain. As he started to consider turning around, one of his ears picked out a rustling sound. A sound nearby. "Hello?" he asked into the air.

He turned around and looked all about himself. He took a deep breath in and started to walk again, only to hear another noise—a slimy hiss, this time sounding much closer. Once more he spun around, shooting glances to as many different areas as he could. "You! Whoever you are, show yourself at once!"

Nothing. Civello's breathing started to increase, and he felt his heart start to beat faster. Now visibly shaken, he started to backtrack the way he had came, only to hear the sounds of footsteps behind him. He shot his head around, and to his dismay he still seemed to be alone. "Stop this immediately!" he called out, "I am Legion Commander, I'll have you know!"

He started walking again, and the sound of feet recommenced. As he increased his pace, he could hear the phantom steps match his own, as if they were following him. As fear started to overtake rationality Civello moved faster and faster. There was something terrible in the air, something dangerous. He thought suddenly that he needed his guard by his side, that very instant. He took in a breath and opened his mouth—And felt something terribly sharp stab into his back.

His attempt to call for aid dwindled into an even sharper intake of breath as a pain unlike any he had ever experienced before seized his body. His vision immediately blurred, and in a way his hearing did as well, as though he were underwater. He could hear the sound of something akin to a laugh, or maybe it was a hiss. What was likely dagger dug in deeper, being pushed deep, deep into the Imperial's back. Civello tried to thrash out, but he suddenly had no energy.

Perhaps it was a second, perhaps it was an hour, but after a time Civello felt the dagger be torn out, along with a good chunk of himself due to barbs. His already weak legs failed him as he tobbled once and fell onto the ground with a terrible thunk. Similar to how his eyes and ears failed, Civello felt his mind starting to cloud up. He was bleeding freely and terribly, but the pain made doing anything to save himself all but impossible.

With the last vestiges of strength he clawed desperately at the stones of the road, scratching the uncalloused tips of his fat fingers. He took in a long, final shuddering breath and made a tragic sound. It was akin to some frost touched beast, harpooned by Nordic spears, knowing that its death grew near. The noise reverberated along the narrow walls and echoed several times until it faded into nothingness. And then, the deathly silence of the alleyway returned, along with a sepulchral stillness.


	24. Truth and Consequences

Morrowind was alien and forbidding. Lex walked through the camp slowly as he took in the foreign landscape which dominated the land. He had never seen Morrowind before, and all he knew of it he had gleaned through a rare print or engraving. Now that he had arrived, he was again starting to feel as though he were out of his league. Huge, twisted mushrooms grew alongside the trees, their spores barely visible in the evening twilight as they drifted softly to the ground. The grass was brittle and sharp, snapping and breaking as Lex's thick plate boots touched them. He heard a rustle nearby and spotted a scaly bipedal monster, which Sigrdríf told him was domesticated here. It was hard to believe that such an area could be found anywhere on Nirn, let alone in the Empire.

Further contrast in this forbidding land lay closer to Lex's expertise. The differences between the two legion's soldiers were dramatic. The mostly Imperial Deathshed were fatigued and weathered, with gear that seemed as though it was falling apart and a morale which was less than enthusiastic. The Nords, on the other hand, were full of more energy than Lex had ever seen in people who were at war, and spent every waking moment either drinking, singing, or fighting; most of which usually at the same time.

As he continued towards the superior officer's section, most of the rank and file filtered out, leaving fewer and were soldiers to give their salutes and respects, which Lex had slowly became accustomed to. Eventually, the imperator had several moments to himself, alone, with quiet reflection as his only companion. Near the most important tents, though, he saw two figures conversing, which he quickly deduced as Guilliam and Kirania. As soon as the two noticed him, Kirania jumped slightly, said something to Guilliam, and the Breton walked away towards his own tent. The Bosmer stood at attention, waiting for Lex to draw near. As he did, she addressed him. "Imperator," she started.

"Guardswoman," Lex replied, looking her over.

Her gaze was fixed firmly on the ground, and her face's expression was that of someone who was about to do a very necessary task with great reluctance. "I…" she began slowly, "I want to apologize for my words some days back. They were uncalled for."

"Accepted," Lex responded immediately.

Kirania looked up and made eye contact, now rather surprised. "Accepted?" she said, taken aback.

"Yes, accepted," replied Lex. "You were being honest, and there's nothing disgraceful in that. And besides, we're going to be fighting alongside each other, and we can't have repressed anger or resentment between us."

Kirania nodded. "Right. Thank you, sir," she said, looking less resentful and slightly more uncertain. "I take it that you're going to try to go rest now? You look horribly tired."

Lex suddenly realized he was indeed exhausted. All the constant stress had ruined his normally clockwork sleep schedule, which was evident by the purple bags steadily growing under his eyes. "In due time. For now, I need to speak with General Sigrdríf."

"Didn't you discuss tactics with General Darius?"

"We did, and our course of action has already been determined. For now, it seems as though she wants to discuss more… Personal matters."

Kirania's expression changed from innocently inquisitive to darkly suspicious. "'Personal' matters?"

"She said she wanted to discuss such," Lex said, his voice drained of excitement, "And I can't see any reason not to go."

The Bosmer still looked as though they were discussing some sort of vile insect. Lex sighed and shook his head with mild frustration. "I take it that your opinion of her hasn't heightened since we last spoke."

"Why would it?" she replied bitterly.

"You've a valid point," Lex admitted, "But she's a curious woman. And something about her…" he said, his own voice now becoming uncertain in a rare moment of weakness.

Kirania's ears perked up. 'Is he… Confiding in me?' she wondered.

Lex's gazed towards the distance. "I can't understand… Why of all the generals Civello could have assigned me to, why chose the one who seems to have a personal vendetta against him? It makes so little sense…"

The theif put on her best sympathetic face. "That's really a tough question," she said, trying to sound as understanding as possible.

Lex's eyes narrowed, but he allowed himself an uncommon chuckle. "But look at me, getting worked over something so theoretical. There's no use brooding about it, I'll just have to investigate. It's like hunting thieves, isn't it?"

Kirania almost scowled, but swallowed her pride. "Of course, captain," she said between clenched teeth, "Just like it."

The Imperial tossed a quick glance at his companion, sizing her up again. "… Guardswoman," he said after a moment, "This isn't easy for me to say, but I suppose I should apologize myself. When I met you… Well, I can't say why, but I wasn't entirely comfortable around you. For the damnedest reason I…" he trailed off, looking unusually thoughtful. "Well, it's no matter, is it? I'm not excellent with words, but despite all our clashing ideals, you've shown nothing but loyalty towards me, to the point where you've followed me to war. I just wanted to thank you."

Despite having thought of her wit and quick thinking as one of her best qualities, Kirania genuinely couldn't think of a response for a half second. She was, however, a professional, and slapped on a smile a second afterwards. "I'm glad to hear that, sir. I know you're my superior, but you seem so friendly with Guilliam, I just was hoping that we could be that way."

"I daresay we will," Lex said with a nod, and a small, maybe even hopeful smile. "Now, while I go speak to the general, I think that you should get some rest. We've no idea what these next few days will bring."

Kirania gave a salute. "Sir!" she said, then turned towards her tent.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lex vanish into Sigrdríf's tent. Two very different dialogues were competing in her mind for preeminence. The first was the joy of her career's future. Lex, the uncrackable sealed man, had actually _opened up _to her, a Thieves' Guild operative. It was impossible to purchase that sort of insight into the most hated man on the Waterfront, the frumpy, overzealous fool, Hieronymus Lex. If she could milk this view into Lex's mind for all it was worth, the possibilities were endless.

But there wasn't just happiness in her mind. Lex, the uncrackable sealed man had actually _opened up _to her, a Thieves' Guild operative. It was easy to view Lex as some sort of devil, to personify him as something wicked and evil. But now the Imperial had shown that he actually had a human, maybe even caring side to him. And despite making a living by stealing, it made her morals suddenly much more conflicted. It was one thing to rob some pampered noble, but to actively earn the trust and then betray someone who had so very few close friends-

She pushed those thoughts aside. She could _not _lose her edge here, not after so exciting a development. Lex was just the target, she reassured herself as she entered the tent, and whatever she did was for the good of the guild. After all, he was still _Hieronymus Lex, _after all. It's not like she meant those last things she said.

Wasn't it?

* * *

_Thank you for your valor, Lord Vivec. I shall not quail, nor turn away, but face my enemies and my fear._

"… Like monsters from the south, faster than we'd ever dreamt…"

_Thank you for your daring, Lord Vivec. I shall not shun risk, nor hide behind the mask of cautious counsel, for fortune favors the bold._

"… Mostly animals, but they're vengeful. Any farm or plantation they come across is put to the torch, even small towns…"

_Thank you for your justice, Lord Vivec. I shall be neither cruel nor arbitrary, for fair dealing earns the love, trust, and respect of our people._

"… Merciless in the extreme. They're not content to break our forces, the actively rout and kill every solider they can find. There is no mercy…"

_Thank you for your courtesy, Lord Vivec. I shall speak neither hurtful nor harsh word, but shall speak respectfully, even of my enemies, for temperate words may turn aside anger._

"… Far too undermanned to provide a solid resistance. Darius must have planned this from the start—to take our troops from the south to the west, making us horridly weak…"

_Thank you for your pride, Lord Vivec. I shall not doubt myself, or my people, or my gods, and shall insist upon them, and my ancient rights._

"… How can it be possible they made such good time? No army can move through the Marsh as such speed…"

_Thank you for your generosity, Lord Vivec. I shall neither hoard nor steal, nor encumber myself with profitless treasures, but shall share freely among house and hearth._

"… Let us ask Berel. Have you any recommendations...?"

_Thank you for your humility, Lord Vivec. I shall neither strut nor preen in vanity, but shall know and give thanks for my place in the greater world._

"… What say you Berel? … Berel? Sala?!"

The ordinator opened his eyes. "Forgive me. You need my contribution?"

Hler stood alongside some general, looking quite angry. "Yes, Sala, I would appreciate it. We're losing the south. This is unacceptable!"

Sala didn't speak for a moment. A memory buried in his mind but unable to be forgotten returned, one of a mocking stranger in his very room. A stranger, it seemed, who was correct. "We need to intercept the southern army. There's no other way."

"And cancel the review?" replied Hler, "Madness! Our unity is fading fast, Sala. The Dres told me if we don't intervene in the south, they're going to withdraw their forces from our army. The Hlaalu are just as cowardly, no doubt. We can't go about weakening our solidarity."

"Then we can perhaps take a detachment from our forces and send it south."

"Unacceptable. Any force would be far too large to miss the review, not to mention demoralizing to the warriors who were hoping for a respite."

"Are there any mercenaries? I believe there are still some contacts in the Fighter's Guild—"

"Deal with the Imperials!? Intolerable!"

Sala frowned. "How is it, sera," he began in a thoroughly different tone, "That whenever I give my ideas, you always seem to ridicule them?"

Hler was taken aback. He gestured for the general to leave, "Well," he slowly began when they were alone, "Your recent suggestions have all been so very bizarre, I find myself wondering what you've been thinking lately."

"I beg your pardon," Sala said, his frown darkening even more.

"I am starting to wonder if… Perhaps the stress of this post has gotten to you. Perhaps you need to take some time off—"

"We are equal, Hler," Sala interjected forcefully.

Hler put his hand to his chest in what struck Sala as false surprise "I never claimed to say…"

"No, Hler. None of these word games. We are _equal._"

The elder man shook his head. "This sort of paranoia is—"

The younger man opened his mouth to say something, but checked himself. He closed his eyes and thought for several moments before speaking, "No more," Sala said, leaving the room, "I've had enough for now, I'm in no mood for this. I'm off to survey the troops."

Hler watched Sala leave. "Are you sure you don't need time to rest? This would be the best time, before the legions arrive."

Sala tossed one glance behind him, looking both towards the Dunmer and the shadowy corners of the room behind him. "I'm starting to think," he said, "That Saryoni was right from the start."

The younger Dunmer turned and left, leaving Hler alone in his quarters. His face turned sour. "Sala grows more and more impetuous by the day. I think he's starting to outgrow his usefulness," he stated boldly.

From deep within the shadows Hler could hear a muffled but genial laugh. "Do you now? He still has a certain charisma that you lack," said a playful, mocking voice from the dark.

"I'm being serious," Hler snipped, "I think he's growing suspicious. If he investigates, we'll surely…"

"Lose him?" said a black-cloaked figure emerging from the darkness, "Oh, come now. You knew he was a pawn when we started this. It's unwise to become attached to such trivial feelings."

"I don't have any camaraderie for him," countered Hler, sitting down at his chair, "But to lose him now would be horrible for morale."

"True," said the cloaked man with a hint of amusement, "If we killed him now, I think there'd be some negative effects."

Hler furrowed his brow in thought. "For now, we'll just need to watch Sala. Very carefully. For all we know, he might be more ambitious than we believe him to be. You'll keep tabs on him?"

"Muthsera, he'll not take a single step without me knowing," the figure said with a bow and a chuckle.

"Good. We're very close now. If we can just humble Darius, we'll have enough time to really consolidate our power. I can't believe it. A year ago, I wouldn't believe this possible."

The figure laughed and returned to the shadows. "Oh, indeed, sera," he called out before he dissolved into the void, "This year is just full of surprises!"

Hler eyed where his agnatic companion once stood. "Oh, yes," he said under his breath, his face still dour, "There are surprises afoot. I just hope they don't involve your loyalty."

* * *

Maro Rufus had hit a paradox at midnight. Before Varnado had gone to bed, he looked at Maro with that sort of humorless look he had before he said something important and boring and bellowed, "Now remember, Rufus, you are _not _to go upstairs unless it is a life threatening emergency, you got that?"

Maro knew that. It made perfect sense. Lady Flyte was sleeping upstairs in what little comfort could be provided for her. She was a grown woman, and even Maro knew that it would be scandalous if news got out that she was spending the night in the household of two men. That was no problem, though, as the best ability of a merchant was to keep secrets, which Maro had in droves.

But there were assassins! Maro realized this and sat up suddenly, looking about the room. Varnado and Gin-Wulm were both sprawled, like him, on bedrolls, only they were asleep. Asleep when assassins were prowling the city like monsters! And they might even attack Lady Flyte again, the thought of which made Maro more frightened than anything else.

The Imperial would have to say that Varnado would've been proud of his restraint. Despite an _extremely _suspicious shadow (which turned out to be a broom) and the unusually loud (ominously so?) chirping of crickets, Maro hadn't gone upstairs to rescue Lady Flyte from a fate possibly worse than death. But the night just wouldn't end, and Maro was having none of it. Then it happened. From upstairs there was the faint noise of something, like a tiny crash. The shopkeepers mind was simultaneously flooded with dozens of scenarios, all of which worse and more lethal than the last, and quickly bolted off his bedroll and made his way upstairs with amazing haste.

Throwing open the door, he was shocked to find that Lady Flyte was not in her bed, but kneeling in the middle of the room, looking slightly frantic. He drew the sword he had kept with him during his slumber and ran boldly into the room. "Let me face the peril!" he cried out, brandishing his blade.

Lady Flyte looked up in a mixture of surprise and annoyance. "Peril?" she repeated.

Maro pointed his sword towards one of the upstairs windows. "I'll defend you 'til I breath my last, my lady!" he said, "Just tell me where to strike!"

Lady Flyte looked at him for several seconds before sighing. "Mr. Rufus, there is no peril at the moment," she said with the slightest hint of irritation.

Maro gave his sword another swing before the reality of the words hit him. "Really?" he said, still pointing his sword at a very untrustworthy looking corner of the room.

"Yes," the lady said, standing up, "I'm fine."

A moment went by as Maro processed what just happened. When he realized what position he was in, he promptly took the most rational course of action. "A thousand pardons, my lady!" he cried out, kneeling on the floor, "I had no intention of disturbing you, or bothering you, or assaulting you, or—"

The Breton lady, noting that the shopkeeper's eyes were firmly focused on the ground, rolled her own eyes in a dramatic fashion. "Enough, Mr. Rufus," said Lady Flyte, "It is fine. As you are here, though, I have a task for you."

Maro looked up, now visibly excited. "Really!?"

The Lady Flyte put on her best smile. "Of course. I dropped a small piece of jewelry on the floor. Could you be so kind as to help me find it?"

"Of course!" Maro said, with more energy than he had displayed in a great while, "I'll look until my eyes drop from my face!"

He began eagerly looking about the floor of his room, as though he were a treasure hunter in an Ayleid ruin. Slowly, Lynette Flyte's irritation turned to a more benign amusement as he zealously searched the area, covering more ground in seconds then she had in minutes. 'He must truly be happy to serve,' thought quietly, 'How…' but her thoughts trailed off, as she had never seen anyone so sincerely help her. Was it droll? Amusing? Embarrassing?

It only took a couple of minutes for Maro to grasp at a small object and bring it to better light. It was indeed a piece of jewelry. A small piece of marble had been carefully etched to resemble a face, with different layers of marble artfully matching the different shades of light. It was of a young noble lady, who bore a resemblance to Lady Flyte, but was distinctly different. Oddly enough, despite seemingly like an expensive showpiece, Maro had never once seen the lady wear it. "It's a cameo," he said, giving it a quick appraisal.

Lady Flyte smiled. "Yes, it is. You're familiar with cameos, then?"

Maro nodded. "I know most sorts of jewelry. I can undercut Divine Elegance that way, and it's good to sell more than just armor," he said blushing slightly while handing the item back to the lady. "Who is it of?"

Lady Flyte opened her lips slightly, and Maro noticed a wave of melancholy ripple across her face. "It… It's of Nanette. It's of my sister," Lynette said softly.

"I didn't know you had a sister," Maro said, "Which is odd, seeing as you talk about your father all the time."

Lynette's smile turned slightly pained. "Well, I… She… She vanished, Mr. Rufus," she said with some effort, "Without a trace, some years ago. I… Don't enjoy speaking of it," she finished, her normally balanced voice trying to tackle her own inner emotion.

"… I'm sorry," Maro muttered.

The lady ran her thumb across her eyelid. "Don't be. Such tragedies befall all families, be they noble or common. It was some time ago now, and… I'm learning how to cope."

Maro didn't immediately reply. After a moment of reflection, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small accessory of his own. It seemed to be a sort of brass locket, scratched, dented, but nevertheless well taken care of. He flipped it open to reveal a picture of a smiling young woman, who looked rather pretty despite the poor quality of the painting. "That's my own sister," he said, pointing towards the girl, "Juila."

The lady frowned. "You've never mentioned her."

"Don't talk about her much. Its heavier stuff than I like to talk about. She's blind. Struck blind in an accident that took away my grandma. She tries to make end meets by weaving and whatnot, but the quality of her work is terrible," he said with an empty laugh, "It's up to me to provide for the both of us now. It isn't easy."

"It… It sounds very difficult," Lynette replied, her voice less guarded than it had been in the past.

"I get by. The store runs a decent business. And I got that huge order from the XIIth, you know. When it gets in… Well, I'll be able to sleep easier," Maro said, trying to lighten his spirits. "But at least I can still see her, from time to time…"

Maro thought for a few moments before looking back to Lynette. "Do you still look for her?" he asked, trying to be tact.

"I…" Lynette began, trailing off. There was a tortured look in her eyes, one of a woman who had a great deal of stress and very, very little rest. "I haven't given up hope. My parents… They no longer live in harmony. My father is very ill, and my mother… They're each trying to politically outmaneuver each other, and it leaves little time to organize a proper search."

Maro looked at her, not understanding. "But they're her parents, right? They've got to value the life of their daughter more than politics."

"Of course they do!" Lynette snapped defensively.

The shopkeeper shook his head, still not comprehending, "But then they'd definitely put aside their differences and look for her. They're her _parents._"

"Mr. Rufus," the lady said, "It is very difficult to search High Rock. It is so large, and the circumstances of her disappearance were so… It's just not fiscally…"

The Lady Flyte didn't finish the sentence. Lynette couldn't. She looked at the ground without speaking, with pain swirling in the depths of her eyes. An uncharacteristic suspicion grew in Maro, seizing hold of his mind, and before he knew it, he had opened his mouth to speak. "You still… You still look for her, don't you?"

"… I have many duties and obligations to fulfill…" Lady Flyte replied, her voice now a dull monotone.

Maro took a step back in horror. "But she's your _sister!_"

The words struck the Breton harder than a mace, and cut deeper than a blade. "What would you have me do, Mr. Rufus!?" the Lady Flyte replied, now more agitated, "Drop all the commands of my father, the responsibilities of my nation, to look for someone who is most likely dead?"

"Yes!" Maro replied immediately, "She's your sister! This isn't some political game, she's… She's _real._ That's more important than politics, isn't it? People?" he said, his voice confused and slightly hurt.

"You couldn't understand, Mr. Rufus," Lady Flyte snipped back, "You're just a commoner! You don't understand my position, my place! You don't realize what I can and cannot do!" she said, tears welling in her eyes, "I'm not free like you, Maro!"

Maro opened his mouth and made an exasperated noise, still unable to comprehend Flyte's choice, "She's your _sister!_"

Lady Flyte grabbed at her head. "I… I need to go to sleep now, Mr. Rufus. Please leave me."

Maro was about to reply, but decided to say nothing. He quietly left the room and closed the door behind him. Lady Flyte stood alone, staring at the small face of her sibling, half-illuminated by the flickering candlelight. She groaned in frustration and proceeded to throw herself into the bed; her small, dainty hand gripping the sheets in sorrow.

* * *

Every other day, Jaban would poke his weathered head into Corvus Umbranox's lavish cell and inquire if there was anything that he could do to make the count more comfortable. Normally, the count would merely remain silent, refusing the decadence of the enemy and preferring instead to live in a patriotic austerity. That made it all the more surprising for the aging councilor to see that today the count was sitting at the table with a bottle of wine out, looking as though he were waiting for someone. "Ah, Jaban," he called out in his strong, jocular tone, "Good to see you. Come over here."

Jaban shifted into the room hesitantly. "Something you need, sire?"

The count gestured to the wine. "Yes indeed. I was provided with this lovely bottle, but I've no one to drink it with. My wife is temperate, you see. A lady of virtue she is; perhaps too virtuous, eh?" he said with a healthy laugh.

"I really shouldn't…" the elder man said indecisively.

"Nonsense. It'd be criminal to waste such a fine label drinking it by myself. You wouldn't want me to be an outlaw, would you?"

"Well…" Jaban muttered, double taking, "I suppose I can sit for a few moments…"

"Capital!" the count replied and he corked the bottle.

Jaban sat and sunk into his chair, giving a sigh of relief. The count noticed that he seemed amazingly weary as he poured the two glasses. "Lacking sleep, are you?" the Imperial commented lightly.

The Redguard grabbed the glass and drank it down in a single gulp. The count withheld a grin as he poured another helping to his unusual companion. Jaban shook his head. "You don't know the half of it. Ever since this damn war started I've lost favor in the court. That damn child lords over me as though he's…"

"Actually of any worth?"

"Exactly!" Jaban spurt out, forcefully slamming his glass on the table. "It's unbelievable!"

The count took a sip of wine. "I take it you aren't in favor of the war?"

"In favor?" Jaban scoffed, finishing off his second glass, "It's absolute madness! To go to war against the Empire… It makes so little sense. We've always been free enough; but to start such a bloody, pointless war… I don't understand it. Pour me another, will you?"

The count was all too happy to oblige. "Why did it start then? Why such staunch civil servants like yourself were against it?"

Jaban hesitated for a moment, and looked over his shoulder. He tossed back the wine and thought for a moment. "Want to hear something interesting? It's a secret, though, so you can't tell anyone."

The count laughed good-naturedly as he poured out another glass. "I'm the very spirit of discretion."

The Redguard looked behind himself once more before he continued. "Well," he said while taking a sip, "It's been said that King Lhotun himself is against it."

The count's eyes flashed and he leaned forward. "The king himself?"

Jaban nodded. "The king never spoke of anything even close to something like this, war against the Empire and our friends in Wayrest… But there are some very intriguing things going about the court, you know."

"Along what lines?" inquired the count, trying to sound much less interested than he truly was.

"Oh, I couldn't tell you," said Jaban, "There would be hell to pay if someone realized you knew. Another glass?"

The count smiled. "Well, I don't want to pressure you to say anything, of course."

Jaban took another drink, and was now visibly blushing. "Well… Maybe I can tell you… You can't even leave this room, anyway."

"That's an excellent point."

After spending the better portion of a minute mentally debating with himself, Jaban started to talk. "Something odd happened during the Crisis, and I don't just mean the daedra. During the whole ordeal, a curious envoy appeared in Sentinel; a woman, cloaked in black, who spoke to the king for some time. She was an odd one, with an untrustworthy air to her. But I think that she has something to do with this."

"How so?" asked the count casually.

"The king never seemed to have his heart in the war… He would always look so uncertain when he made new decisions how to fight it. And sometimes, when he started talk about suing for peace… She would appear. As though she knew what he was thinking at all times. And when she did, the war would always escalate even more," he said with a large, frustrated hand gesture. "She arrives, we march into Wayrest. She arrives, we sign the pact. She arrives, we harry the Bosmer. And all the while the king looks more and more uncertain."

The count nodded empathetically. "And you are certain that she is a reason for this war?"

"If I didn't know better," Jaban slurred, pointing his finger at the count. "I'd say she's _the _reason. But maybe I'm thinking about her more because she's just arrived."

The count gave a start. "She's here? Now?"

Jaban nodded. "Talking with the king in the cellar. Not many people know that, you know. I suppose it was because he wants to release you two as a symbol of goodwill to the Empire…" he muttered with a hiccup, "Is there any more wine."

The count stood and smiled. "Plenty," he replied, and promptly took the now empty bottle and smacked it at one of Jaban's temples. The Redguard collapsed over the table, and the count grabbed the old man's set of keys.

"There isn't much time," the count mused to himself, "And the castle will be absolutely crawling with guards… Luckily I know a thing or two about skulking around."

And with that, Count Umbranox left his room into the hallway, and disappeared into the corridors like a shadow.

* * *

Hieronymus Lex normally would've been extremely surprised and offset when he entered Sigrdríf's tent, but at this point his normality had been so far removed that he could only inwardly sigh. General Sigrdríf was at the other side of the room, eating a slab of dried meat while looking over a detailed map of the region. What was odd was that instead of her normal legionary attire that she had always worn to this point, she was clad in a loose-fitting evening robe which clung to her curves far too adeptly to be entire coincidental. Lex one again wished fondly that he were back in his proper post as guard captain, yet nevertheless gave a reluctant cough to announce his presence.

Sigrdríf turned her head and gave one of her smiles that Lex couldn't quite tell was manufactured or genuine. "Ah, imperator! I'm so glad you stopped by."

She set her food down and walked towards him with an unusual saunter in her step. Lex, to his credit, resisted raising a brow. 'What's she getting at?', he wondered.

Beaming, she gestured to the table. "Please, take a seat. You always seem to be standing, it seems."

"You're out of uniform," Lex stated dryly as he sat.

Sigrdríf laughed, her voice carrying both unyielding strength and a sensual femininity in a way that only a master of the Tongue could muster. "You don't think that I live in my uniform, do you? Certainly you don't spend all your evenings in that stuffy armor of yours."

Lex couldn't think of any other clothes he normally wore, but chose not to answer. "You've been preparing for battle, it seems," he said, looking over the map.

"That is my job, yes," the Nord replied as she sat down herself, "And I pride myself on my work."

"Do you wish to discuss the plans, then?"

Sigrdríf smiled again, this time a little duskier. "Imperator, we've been talking about battles and tactics nearly every moment we've been together. I think I've taught you more in the past few weeks than I ever learned when I was at the academy. Surely you don't really need more clarification."

"Regardless," Lex responded, his voice eternally professional, "I find it important to execute one's duties in a thorough manner."

The general shook her head, "Oh, I do to, but you can't let such duties consume your life. Don't you feel as though you're too focused on your job sometimes?"

"Never," Lex said, trying his hardest to read into her intentions. "If anything, I wish I could be ever more vigilant in my work."

"But haven't you ever wondered what you're missing out on by only living for your career?" Sigrdríf ventured.

"Not really. I am content with my life, and see no reason why I should change it."

The Nord smiled, as though she were amused. "Well, relaxing a little could never hurt, could it?"

"You would be surprised, general," Lex replied, his voice far more humorless, "But my personal time isn't of vital importance to you."

"Oh, I'm very well aware of that. But I like to get to know interesting people," she said, the odd expression still on her face, "And even if you don't know it; you're an extremely intriguing person, imperator."

Lex studied her features carefully. If he didn't know better, he would have assumed that she was trying to seduce him. But her eyes told a different story. They had a violent eagerness of a warrior sizing up a foe, or of a fighter analyzing a battle stance. Whatever she was trying to achieve, Lex would have to mediate. Of course, subtlety was never one of his hallmarks. "Some time ago we spoke of Civello," he said, trying to shift the entire flow of the conversation.

Sigrdríf's façade cracked. "Gods above!" she said, rolling her eyes, "All you ever do is speak of that man! It's as though you're lovers!"

"You told me that you had a personal grudge against him."

She lost eye contact and refused to speak at first. "Yes, I did," the eventually general replied with reluctance.

"I'm curious as to why."

"Are you now?" said Sigrdríf, "You really want to pry there? It seems a bit odd for you."

Lex closed his eyes for a moment. In the darkness, he could make out Civello's fat, silly face like a ghost. 'Think, my boy!' it cried out. He opened his eyes and steeled himself. "Regardless, I want to know."

Sigrdríf crossed her arms. Much of the nearly playful, sly demeanor she had when he entered was gone, and she seemed nearly disproportionately angry to the request. Such interpersonal tasks maddened Lex, as her motivations were still a mystery. "Order me," she said after a moment.

"Come again?"

The general leaned forward. "Order me to disclose that _personal _information, imperator," she said in a more hushed voice, "Because there's no way you'll get it otherwise."

'What a frustrating woman,' Lex thought, 'And mother wonders why I have no wife.' Lex stared at Sigrdríf for a moment before speaking. "Fine, general. I order it then. What personal issue do you have with Civello?"

Sigrdríf once again looked away for a moment, and then sighed deeply. "… The year was 407," she began slowly, each word carrying a certain heaviness, "I was hardly a baby. The Empire was still recovering from Thran's madness. The regional wars were horrible, imperator. I doubt you'd know, being a Colovian, but Skyrim was in a state of peril. When most people think of Skyrim during the wars, they think of the Bend'r-mahk, but my father was a legionnaire, and wouldn't abandon his post to follow such a local conflict. But elsewhere, even with Uriel back on the throne for more than a decade, another conflict hadn't fully finished.

"Morrowind won the Arnesian war, but you could argue that the war never really ended. The Dunmer slavers of House Dres decided that the populace of the Black Marsh were their spoils, and promptly began raiding the border towns with renewed vigor, all in the name of 'Saint Roris'," Sigrdríf said, her gaze fixed to the other side of the room, and her voice as dispassionate as someone discussing ancient history. "The Emperor didn't have many options available. House Dres would simply refuse to accept an order that it didn't approve of, and if any legions were deployed to stop them, Morrowind would take it as a sign of aggression, which was the last thing the Empire wanted. So a blind eye was turned to the province. Hundreds of Argonian men, women, and children were shackled and thrown into the fields, to labor until their bodies gave out. Then a new batch would be stolen.

"My father was a man of integrity. As I've told you, my line is a proud one. He heard of the problems facing the Argonian people, and refused to sit still. He petitioned the former legion commander, Phillida, for permission to mobilize a small taskforce to march from Skyrim to the borders of the Black Marsh. His plan was to give proper tactics and armaments to the Argonians in the towns, so that they could better fend off the Dres. Phillida was too a man of honor, and he gave my father his blessing. And so the VIIth was called to march south, with their wagon trains disguised as merchant caravans, but filled to the brims with supplies and tactical manuals. My father was forced to stay in the garrison; it would be compromising if he were to be seen, but he sent the person he trusted the most in his place—my mother.

Sigrdríf's face grew dark. "About three days away from their base camp, deep in the heart of Dres territory, they struck. With an uncanny amount of foresight and precision, a group of 'bandits' attacked the caravan and burned it at the spot. Every 'merchant' was butchered. Apparently, the Dres knew about them in advance. No 'bandit' would burn all the wares in the train, no 'bandits' could murder some of the VIIth's finest. No, it was the Dres mounted cavalry, fighting in a style that my people couldn't counter. They all died," Sigrdríf said, still emotionless, "Every one."

Lex felt himself grow slightly pale. "Then, your mother…?"

"Don't pity me, imperator," Sigrdríf said, scowling, but still not making eye contact. "Every damn person wants to pity me. I don't hurt. I never knew her. I can't miss something I never had. But I _do _care. The Dres committed a crime against my family, and I intend, in due time, to make them pay the blood price. Regardless, your question still hasn't been answered—Why I hate Civello, wasn't it?"

Lex nodded. He felt nervous; part of him didn't want to hear what was going to come next. But he couldn't turn back now. He had to hear the truth. Sigrdríf shook her hair once, and flicked some stray strands away from her eyes. "My father was devastated. He never was quite the same. He aged quickly, and never truly was happy again. He demanded justice from Phillida, but the commander's hands were tied. The official record said it was 'bandits' that committed the crime, and to investigate would publicly reveal the secretive nature of the plan, which would infuriate the populace. The case was closed. But something haunted my father—how could the Dres have learned of the mission? It was closed to all but the highest members of the legion; they must have had a spy. But who?"

The Imperial felt a knot tie in his stomach, and already knew what was coming next. "My father eventually caught the Guedoilic Plauge, and eventually died. But he left me notes and investigations. The dutiful daughter that I am, I decided to carry out the rest of his work, to allow his spirit to rest in peace. I dislike reading, I'll admit, but spent hours pouring over records and ledgers. Whoever the spy was had certainly covered his trail well. It wasn't covered well enough, though. After a few years, I followed an obscure trail of payments first given by House Dres to several splinter organizations, making its way westward to the Imperial City… And to a young guard captain named Giovanni Civello."

Lex could hardly believe it. "You mean… Civello…?"

Sigrdríf snorted. "There wasn't any decisive proof. I couldn't act on it. My duty to the laws of this land are a little more important than vengeance. But only a little. I looked into Civello's record more, and was disturbed at what I found. Decadence paid for with the blood of the innocent. Have you ever seen his chambers?" she asked with a soulless smile, "The silver, the tapestries, the ebony? Have you ever wondered _how _he got that money? It _wasn't _his uncle, as he leads people to believe."

Sigrdríf laughed and stood. She walked towards her desk, and opened a small drawer. She returned with a huge stack of papers and parchment and threw them on the table. "But please, Imperator, don't take my word for it! Here, read the true story of Giovanni Civello! Read about the blackmail, the murders, and the thievery! Learn for yourself what Giovanni Civello really is," she said, slamming her hand onto the stack, "And then, Hieronymus, then you'll know why I hate him, and you'll _share _that hate!"

Lex stood. His mind was twisting and churning like a storm tormented ocean, but his face kept the same sort of reservation he always had. "Is this the reason," he said, taking the papers, "Why I can't trust you?"

Sigrdríf shook her head. "I don't hate you, imperator. You're not him."

"Why are you helping me?"

"Your physical attractiveness has captivated me," she replied, smiling in a bitter sarcasm.

Lex sighed and decided not to press the point. He looked over the hundreds of sheets of paper in his hands. "Is that all?" he asked, looking at the papers warily.

"Not yet," said Sigrdríf, walking towards Lex, "I have a question of my own to ask you."

Lex frowned, "Go on."

Sigrdríf looked the imperator in the eyes, her gaze frigidly strong. "What I want to know is, knowing the truth about Civello, are you still going to go through with the attempt to become Emperor?"

The imperial looked down at the papers for a moment, but before he could reply, Sigrdríf had already turned her back. "I don't intend that you answer now. Your primary focus should be on an Imperial victory. But I do want to know. So when you do make your decision, I hope you'll alert me."

"Very well. Dismissed, general," Lex said, turning to leave.

"Sir," Sigrdríf replied, returning to her desk.

As Lex left the general's pavilion, he looked at his papers again. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. However, there was no time to waste, and as soon as he arrived in his own quarters, he took out the first sheet, and began reading.


	25. The Ghost Ship

Maro Rufus awoke to find someone kicking him gently in the side. "Wake up, Rufus," he heard a familiar voice say.

The Imperial sat up and looked about himself, blinking sleep from his eyes. He was back in the main room of The Best Defense, with Varnado standing above him fully clothed and looking rather cross. "Get going," the Redguard snorted, "We're about to open shop."

Maro's mind slowly caught up to reality. The events of the previous night slowly crept back into his mind, and the young man realized it hadn't all been a dream. "What happened to Lady Flyte?" he asked with a trace of a frown, stretching out his arms.

"She left early this morning," said Varnado, returning to his desk, "Along with a pretty sizable escort. I suppose things have died down. She looked pretty morose, though. That wouldn't have happened to involve you, would it?" Varnado finished, glancing at Maro out of the corner of his eye suspiciously.

"No," Maro denied, picking up his things, "And aren't we closed today?" he asked, trying to change the subject as quickly as he could.

"What? Rufus, do you even pay attention to the date? It's the twenty-first. It's due day."

Maro suddenly frowned. "Due day?"

"Yes. I talked to you about it at least five times this past week alone," Varnado said as he started filling out a ledger, "You have your share, don't you?"

The Imperial hopped to his feet and scampered to his coffer. He hurled open the lid of the box and started to count his money, and making quick, rushed calculations using his fingers to help add his funds. Varnado watched his partner franticly try to come up with the cost needed, and eventually sighed. "You can't cover it, can you Rufus?"

"I can cover it!" Maro yelled back, "This is close to enough!"

"Close to enough?" Varnado repeated blandly.

"Erm, I mean, if I make at least a few sales before midday…" the Imperial said, trying to convince himself as much as he was Varnado, "Or maybe I still have that money behind the drawers…"

The Redguard sighed again and stood up. He walked over to Maro's desk, where Maro was still desperately looking for money, and sat a large sack of coin on the table. "Take it," he said.

Maro looked up, then glanced at the money, and shook his head. "No. I don't need your help, I can do it myself."

"Possibly," replied Varnado, "But then you wouldn't have enough for your sister, now would you?"

The Imperial attempted to reply, but Varnado cut him off. "Listen. I know you've been trying hard. I know you've been eating nothing but turnip stew for the past two weeks, and I can't remember the last time you bought some frivolous luxury. So just take the money," he said, crossing his arms, "I'd hate to see a pretty girl like Julia go wanting."

Maro slowly stood and looked Varnado in the eyes. "… I'll take it as a loan, not as a gift. I have that big order coming in soon, you know."

Varnado snorted, "I never intended to _give _it to you," he said looking away from Maro, "In fact, this happens to bring up the question of interest."

The Imperial gave a small smile. "Thank you, Varnado."

"Just be happy I'm fond of your sister," replied Varnado, returning to his own desk, "Because just remember, if you did go out of business, I'd have a lot more room to display my wares."

The room quieted as the two went back to work. Maro, after adding in Varnado's share, realized he could still afford to pay the Merchant's Guild, Imperial Taxes, and his sister's expenses this month. Sure, he'd have to phase out supper from his daily routine, but Maro resolved to eat a very large luncheon. As the morning drew on, though, his thoughts slowly shifted away from money and towards more personal issues. He could remember so clearly Lady Flyte's anguish, and how depressed she was on the inside, and even he knew that he had probably pushed her away permanently. Varnado noticed that the Imperial give a pained sigh and couldn't help but frown. 'After all,' he thought as he watched Maro stare listlessly in front of himself, 'There is nothing more miserable in the world than your first love.'

* * *

Kirania stood outside Lex's tent, looking at it curiously. It was about seven thirty in the morning, which was extremely late for Lex to still be sleeping, or even for him to remain in his quarters at all. She shrugged to herself. "He must've stayed up really late," she muttered to herself, "Or had gotten sick. I wonder if he's okay."

She walked towards the tent. "Permission to enter, sir!" she said.

No response. Kirania frowned. "Sir? Are you in there?"

Again, silence. The Bosmer shook her head. "Sir?" she said, poking her head into the room, "We need to—oh!"

Hieronymus Lex was indeed in his quarters. He was near at his desk, surrounded by stacks of documents. His eyes were furiously going over some piece of writing and gleamed with an angry intensity and power that Kirania felt harkened back to his days on the waterfront, being tricked by the Guild left and right. The young woman felt slightly intimidated, but the feeling passed as Lex noticed her. He looked up, and upon seeing her, his furious gaze softened. "Ah, guardswoman," he said, as though being woken from a dream, "Forgive me. What is it that you need?"

Kirania slowly walked forward. "General Sigrdríf sent me. We're about to go, and the laborers need to start packing away the tent."

Lex nodded as though he was only now realizing what he was speaking of. "Yes. Right, I'll get on to that. I've little to pack, luckily," he muttered, quickly trying to get the stacks of writings off his desk.

As Lex worked with putting his things away, Kirania instinctively walked towards the desk, trying to get a glimpse at what was preoccupying her commander. "I thought General Darius had already worked out the battle plans," she said, trying her best to see what was written.

"Yes," Lex replied, taking the last of the forms off his desk at a speed that Kirania found as extremely suspicious, "This was reading for an unrelated issue."

There was a short, awkward silence as Lex continued to put things in their proper places and Kirania merely stood in the middle of the room. The lack of conversation eventually came to Lex's attention, who decided that he should say something, at the least. "Where are you from?" he said at last, glancing over the contents of a trunk.

"Pardon?"

"I asked you where you were from, guardswoman," Lex said without much enthusiasm, "You've never told me."

Kirania gave a faint smirk. "You ask all your subordinates that?"

"Only the ones that don't leave my quarters after they've delivered their reports," the Imperial responded dryly.

The Bosmer frowned slightly, but took the comment in stride. "I'm from Valenwood. Came up to the Imperial City about a year and a half ago with a couple friends of mine."

"Why move?" Lex asked, still going about his business.

Kirania leaned against Lex's desk. "Because everyone knows that Cyrodiil is the land of opportunity. My town was small, and didn't have many openings for people with my sort of ambitions… I mean, I guess it would be like if you were born in some hick town like Bravil…"

"I was born in a hick town called Bravil," replied Lex in the same tone he had been using for the entire conversation.

"Erm, I didn't mean to offend, sir," Kirania replied, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it," Lex responded in a tired tone, "Your honestly has actually started to grow on me… I'm starting to wish there was more of it in this world…"

The imperator's gaze faltered, and Kirania noticed that he clenched his fist tightly. "Sir…?" she asked in a slightly concerned voice.

Lex shook his head. "It's nothing," he said, his voice now fully stoic, "Shall we fetch Guilliam and meet with the two generals?"

"Sure," Kirania said with a nod, "And along the way, you can tell me how _you _got to the Imperial City."

"I don't like to speak about myself," Lex said, leaving his room, "… Although I suppose if you're truly that interested, I can tell the story."

As Guilliam was nowhere to be found, the two spoke for a decent amount of time, and Kirania was even make Lex crack a smile with her favorite joke about the mudcrab and the Tribunal priest. When the Imperator met with the generals Darius and Sigrdríf he had expected the conversation with the Nord to be at least slightly uncomfortable, given the heated opinions of the previous night. However, she seemed to be back to her own ways—sometimes teasing, sometimes helpful, but always with a hidden gleam in her eye that Lex still couldn't decode. Darius looked even more haggard than before, and had a pained look in his eyes every time Sigrdríf happily mentioned "butchering the red-eyes".

The army made excellent time crossing the terrain of Morrowind, with Darius' knowledge of the terrain allowing them to move faster than either Lex or Sigrdríf had anticipated. Meeting only token resistance along the way, the combined army arrived at Cormaris Lake quickly, and a crafty decoy force allowed Sigrdríf to trick the United Morrowind Army into letting the legions move to the strategic foothills that were so vital to an Imperial victory.

Lex allowed no visitors into his room the day before the battle. The imperator spent time in quiet reflection over the past events, and of the true character of those who surrounded him. Meanwhile, Erasmus Servius cut a terrible, bloody swathe through the south of the country, eyeing Mounholde all the while…

* * *

Berel Sala sat in his chambers reading over some documents he had requested with a deeply uncertain look on his face. He had been looking into Tholer Saryoni's assassination for some time now, but it had slowly occurred to him that it didn't add up. Dates and times contradicted themselves in differing reports, and several key details had a troubling degree of variation regarding the cause of death. Nothing made sense, and every question he had set out to answer seemed to engender two more.

He sighed and stood from his table. "Saryoni…" he muttered, "What really happened to you…?"

He glanced at a corner of his room, half-expecting a bemused reply from his mysterious stranger. But he was indeed alone. As he stood in the dark, dimly lit area, he felt his ignorance turn to frustration, but before he could truly get riled up, a visitor broke into his room, panting in fatigue "Hortator!" cried the exhausted guard, "The imperials, they tricked us! They were attempting to get into the hills the entire time! They've arrived!"

"Finally," said Sala, "A pity they couldn't have been intercepted, but I couldn't risk the fact that they would've burned the fields. What do you know of them?"

"There's more of them than we first thought, but we still outnumber them."

"Who leads them?" Sala asked methodically, running tactics over in his mind.

"One of the generals is Darius."

"Darius…" Sala mused, "An honorable foe. And an honorable man. As much as I despise his empire, I must respect him. It will be a pity to have to kill him."

"One is General Sigrdríf," the guard continued.

"The Battle-Singer has decided to show her face?" Sala said, distaste evident in his words, "Well, I never thought it would be me to have the joy of slaying her. Anything else?"

"Well, Hortator… Apparently both of them are being controlled by a greater warlord, one called 'Imperator'."

Sala turned around, confused. "'Imperator'? What nonsense is this?"

"They are led by one, one named Hieronymus Lex. I am not familiar with the name, serjo."

The ordinator mouthed the name and narrowed his eyes. 'So _he_ was right after all,' he brooded. "Regardless of what sort of men lead our enemies, the Tribunal themselves have ordained our actions. Prepare my armor, and have it blessed. I will discuss tactics with the Archcanon tonight, for we move to meet the enemy tomorrow."

The messenger bowed and left, and once again Sala was alone in his room. He clenched his fist—he hadn't expected that the fight would come so soon, especially with so many questions brooding in his mind. He slammed his hand on a small table in frustration, and could've sworn he heard someone laughing in the dark…

* * *

Suger-Lips Habasi wasn't exactly sure where she was in Lake Rumare. Around her was nothing but lonely stretches of empty water and rolling waves, with land impossible to make out at this time of night. Above her was the celestial sphere, with those ancient constellations of myth shining softly in the exceptionally clear sky. Indeed, those stars and the moons seemed to be her only faithful companions now, with the boats other occupant, Christophe, softly sleeping. Habasi felt herself clench a paw in rage as she thought of him, but calmed herself. She was on a mission, after all.

Perhaps Broad had been lying to her. There didn't seem to be any "ghost ship" out on the sea at this ungodly hour. As the hours passed, she became less and less mentally active, feeling her mind wander. Disjointed, ethereal images floated into her mind. There she was, breaking into a heavily guarded room like a shadow, slipping past all the guards with cocky, youthful vigor... There it was, the anticipation of the moment shaking her paws as she reached out for a box, her heart trembling in anticipation at what she was about to accomplish… And there she was, under the judgmental glare of the doyens, with the traitor himself standing behind them, a look on his face both apologetic and prideful…

But her thoughts were interrupted when her eyes caught a small pinpoint of green light in the distance. Her lethargy totally shed, Habasi sat upright, her eyes trying to make out whatever was so far away. She purred in excitement, and turned around to wake her unwanted guest up. To her dismay, however, Christophe already had one eye open, which looked just as awake as her own. "Find 'em, kitten?"

Habasi scowled. "She did. Look."

Christophe squinted, and after a moment a small smirk spread over his face. "There she is. I've got to hand it to you, you found it after all."

The Khajiit snarled and started working through a pack near her feet. "Habasi is the best. She was _always _the best."

The Redguard sighed in response. "You really don't want to go into _that_ now, do you?"

"No," she said, taking out what looked to be a large tarp, "She doesn't."

Christophe raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Cover," Habasi replied simply as she threw in over their small boat, "So they can be snuck up upon."

"Kitten, are you mad!?" Christophe said sitting upright, now looking much more wary than he had been before, "We can't board now; we don't know anything about them! We already have an advantage now, let's wait a week—"

"Habasi has a job to do," the Khajiit cut in as she slowly paddled the boat towards the light in the distance, "And unless Christophe wants to fight her, he'll be silent. He was the one who insisted to come along with this one, after all."

Christophe clicked his tongue in annoyance, but let Habasi have her way. This was indeed their big shot to see who was supplying the felshine to the City. As their bark grew closer and closer to the larger vessel, both thieves grew increasingly intrigued. Floating in the desolate, blackened waters was a vessel Habasi had never seen before. It was thoroughly unlike an Imperial galleon; instead it was more akin to the boats she was used to in Morrowind, more slender and delicately built, despite its impressive size. Odd lanterns hung along its sides gave off an ethereal green glow, as though it were a haunted ship hunting in the frigid dark. The oddest thing about it however, were the sails. Instead of having a single sheet rigged to the mast, there were no less than five small sheets, one atop another, with the only thing separating each of them being a wooden pole. Habasi glanced towards her partner. "It's like nothing that she's ever seen," she whispered, taking care not to poke her head too far out of her cover.

As they grew closer Habasi could make out other features of the ship. Whoever had built it had an odd fascination what something that was large and reptilian. What looked like some sacrilegious combination of the Imperial Dragon and a common snake was carved into the hull; even the railings had been replaced with facsimiles of this beast. The ship even smelled exotic, of fragrances totally alien, but her sharp nose did pick up one in particular. "Felshine," she muttered.

The thieves' ship knocked into the larger one. No one on deck seemed to notice. Habasi, lithe as the Night Lady herself, slipped from her hiding space without a word and grabbed onto some rigging to work her way up the side of the ship. Christophe followed suit, though somewhat more warily. Above decks they noticed more odd contraptions—slender metal tubes that faced away from the hull, and all the wood was carved in an ornate yet foreign style. No one seemed to be above decks, but there was definitely noise coming from below. Habasi glanced at Christophe and muttered in a voice far too low for anyone to hear but the properly trained. "The ship reeks of the felshine. Habasi will find it. You investigate here."

"You think to give _me _orders," Christophe replied, not very amused.

There was no reply, though, as the woman had already vanished. Christophe shook his head in frustration but started to sneak across the deck. As he inspected the deck, one thing in particular caught his eye. He saw near the stern a large, ornate door, which probably led to some sort of captain's quarters. Perhaps there was information there, he told himself. His feet were silent as he glided across the deck, growing closer to the door. He came nearer and nearer, until it was within armreach. His hand extended to grasp whatever kept the door shut, and then—

"Who are you?" bellowed a cruel voice from behind him, "Who dares set foot on my holy vessel?"

Christophe turned in a blink of an eye and noticed him. Standing on the middle of the deck, as though he had materialized from nowhere, was an enigma clad in black robes. He was large, both solidly built and menacing. The man's voice was like the churning of the ocean; as deep and as uncaring as the inky depths they stood above. The figure hardly moved. Christophe couldn't even tell if he was breathing. "I repeat," he called out, shattering the night's silence, "Who is so idiotic as though they think they can board the Pillar's ship?"

The doyen took a step backwards, ready to leap for cover if need be. The figure was not amused. Out of his sleeve tumbled an odd weapon; it seemed to be a small, yet masterfully crafted sickle, and yet at one end was a long chain. He grabbed both ends and slowly started swinging the weapon around in circles, its perfect edge glimmering in the moonlight "You think to run?" his voice rumbled, "You are a fool. I have a very strict policy when it comes to stowaways, one that you will learn as I reap the air from your lungs."

A bead of sweat trickled down the Redguard's face. The robed man started to close the distance between them, his blade flawlessly dancing in the dark. He needed to dart one way or another if he wanted to live. The direction was paramount—if he chose the wrong way, the blade would bury itself into his heart. Rarely had death been so close, seemingly as inevitable as the ocean's tide. Armand Christophe had gambled before, but never in his life had the odds been so high.


	26. The Battle of Cormaris Lake, Part I

When Hieronymus Lex left his tent in the morning, he was greeted by a gloomy drizzle. It was a cold and cheerless morning, with the sun still hidden behind the brooding, sweeping clouds. This weather didn't brighten his already dark mood. He felt as though a rock had been placed on his chest. He had hardly felt this sort of anxiousness before, perhaps only on the day he applied for captain. He couldn't dwell on it, though, as walking through the falling rain was the Battle-Singer, who had a small, expectant smile on her face. "Well, imperator?" she asked as she drew near, "How does it feel?"

"Excuse me?" Lex replied, batting the falling rain from his eyes.

The general's smirk grew. "It's the morning before a big battle. Your first, even. Can you feel the tension? In the men? In yourself? Knowing that tonight you'll either feast in victory or rot on the fields… I love that feeling, Imperator," she said with a contented sigh, "It's when I feel the most alive."

Lex started walking again. "You've an extremely odd definition of feeling alive," he quipped, "But as for myself, I'm merely performing my duty. I feel at peace."

"A pity," Sigrdríf said, still smiling, "A true warrior would be overjoyed at a prospective battle."

"Possibly. However, you forget that I'm a guardsman," Lex responded while keeping a brisk pace.

Lex could've sworn he heard a faint giggle, but the rain made such subtle noises impossible to hear. "Fair enough, Imperator."

They were silent as they kept walking past the now quiet and empty tents. After some time, they approached a small bluff just outside of the camp. On top of the hill were a few figures Lex could recognize—Darius with a severe look on his face, Kirania biting her lip in anticipation, and Guilliam blowing into his balled hands, trying to keep warm. Surrounding them was Lex's army, the fresh young recruits and haggard old veterans, the exhausted Imperials and eager Nords; all of whom had assembled waiting for their commands.

Lex reached his companions, all of who saluted. Darius stepped forward. "The rain won't last," he said, "That's fortuitous. The Dunmer will need to march through the mud to reach us; they're not used to such conditions."

"We were able to build some light fortifications," Sigrdríf added, "But they're not going to do too much. The Dark Elves' numbers are somewhat less than we had anticipated—it seems as though they sent a sizable chunk of their forces southwest towards the mountain passes they assumed we'd use. That could be our decisive advantage."

Lex looked across the hills. Just within his view he could see the Dunmer, their forces looking like so many insects swarming in the hills. He could tell that their foes still definitely had the advantage of numbers. "When will they move?" he asked.

"I think they're waiting out the rain," replied Darius, "Possibly in an hour or two. Maybe less."

Lex closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. When he opened them, he noticed that both Darius and Sigrdríf were looking at him expectantly. There was a moment where no one said anything, which Sigrdríf eventually broke. "Don't you want to say something to the men, imperator?"

Lex glanced out at his soldiers, "Yes, I should, shouldn't I?" he said.

Hieronymus took a few steps out and looked at the soldiers. He saw many different emotions in crowd—hope, fear, anticipation, despair, loyalty—and it struck him how so many of these men were going to die. His throat felt dry, but he steeled his resolve. "The Empire," he called out in a strong, loud voice, "Expects every man to do his duty."

With that he turned and walked back to the generals. Darius looked unimpressed, and Sigrdríf had a half-exasperated, half-unbelieving look on her face. "That's it?" she managed after a moment.

Lex looked surprised. "Was that not sufficient?"

The Nord sighed. "No, imperator, that was fine… Just…" her voice trailed off as she sighed again and walked out in front of the men herself.

She took a deep breath in, "Listen, the lot of you," her powerful voice boomed, "Some of you call me your general. Others know me by reputation, and others still have no idea who I am, other than that one woman general. But I know you. I know what you're thinking; so far from home, fighting some dark-skinned devil in a land you neither know or care of. I know your heart aches for your homes, for your wives, children and families. I know this all, because I feel it too.

"But we share a common cause. We, together, are the hammer of the Empire. We defend this institution that has brought prosperity to all of Tamriel from those monsters so selfish that they would tear down our very civilization just to suit their immediate, individual needs. This whole thing makes me sick. But I'm not surprised. The entire history of civilization we've fought the mer; it's out endless, thankless struggle. Who hunted the twisted and sadistic elven empire of myth? We, the children of Skyrim! Who drove out their thrice-damned Heartland High Elf overlords from the heartland of the Empire? You, the brave followers of Talos!"

Lex glanced over to Darius, who looked grim. The soldiers seemed to be getting energetic, though. Sigrdríf was as well. "So remember, brave soldiers, we are standing at the brink of this great conflict with the ancestral foe yet again. This is our hour! Centuries from now old men will tell their children of the heroism that we will accomplish here, how we righteously struck down the heathen, backwards Dunmer and reestablished peace. We will be the next heroes in a long, glorious line! No matter what mask the ancient enemy hides behind, an elf is always an elf; and you can be damn certain that man will be there to put him in his place! Pick up the sword and face the enemy! Today we fight!"

Sigrdríf yelled, causing the army to cheer in anticipation. Lex's expression stayed reserved, but he caught out of the corner of his eye Guilliam starting to give a bit of a cheer, only to be silenced by Kirania kicking him in the shin. Darius looked even less amused at Sigrdríf's rallying cry. "She certainly has a flair for the dramatic, doesn't she?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

Sigrdríf returned to Lex and Darius, shaking her hair once with a sort of wild energy. Darius made no effort to mask his distaste. "Exceptionally fine speech, general," he managed.

"It was certainly rousing," Lex added dryly.

"Of course," said Sigrdríf with one of her crisp laughs, "These men, they won't go out and get themselves killed for a wage they could get anywhere else, or for some little distinction. As a leader, you've got to be able to stir their very souls and inspire them. That's the only way we can kill those Tribunal zealots. It's also a fine lesson for any imperator to learn," she added with a sly smile.

Lex frowned, but didn't dwell on the matter. He turned and looked at his younger comrades, both of whom seemed ready and eager. "Where're we going, cap'n?" said Guilliam, "You just give the order, and I'll fight as hard as I can."

"Out of the question," Lex replied, "I want you two to wait in the camp."

"No way!" Guilliam whined, "We can't just run away! That's the cowards way out!"

Kirania nodded. "I don't expect any special treatment, sir."

Lex deeply sighed and pondered the situation. He glanced at Guilliam. "I want you to be my runner," he determined, "I'll give you commands, and you relay them to the front lines, understand?"

Guilliam nodded. "Of course, c'apn. I'll do a damn good job!"

The youth ran over towards where Sigrdríf and Darius were standing, obviously excited at such a prospect. Lex tried to shake a bad feeling growing in his chest, but turned his attention to Kirania. Her face was more resolute than it had been in the past, and her eyes had a glimmer of duty that had been missing when he had first met her. "Guardswoman, you're effective from range, are you not?"

"Yes, sir," she replied.

Lex nodded and closed his eyes. "I want you to join the skirmishers on the western flank," he said after a moment, "See what you can do. If it gets too dangerous, start falling back, understood?"

"Of course, sir," she replied with a salute.

The Bosmer turned around and was hustling to her position, but heard Lex call out to her before she could get to far away. "I meant that, soldier," he called out, "If it gets too dangerous, get out of there."

She turned around and faced Lex. Although she was too far away to see properly, Lex could make out a warm smile on her face, along with a nod. Soon afterwards she vanished over one of the many hills. Lex strode over to where the generals stood. None of them spoke as the minutes dragged on, the time only increasing the tension that Lex and Darius felt (Sigrdríf, for her part, had a smile on her face). After twenty minutes, though, Lex noticed the nearby Cormaris Lake glimmer. He looked up, and noticed that it was reflecting the sun that was breaking through the clouds. And he also noticed that the rain had vanished, leaving only a cool breeze in its wake. Shouts came up from the Dunmer camp, and Lex noticed the throng of enemy soldiers start to move. Darius furrowed his brow. "They're coming," he stated.

Sigrdríf's grin widened. "The die is cast."

* * *

Habasi crept below decks of the ghost ship with her trademark craftsmanship. Her steps were noiseless, and her motions nearly undetectable. However, her efforts were seemingly for nothing. The ship was oddly quiet; she hadn't encountered a soul since she boarded. However, she could make out two distinct sensations. First were odd, metallic sounds, which seemed to grow louder as she progressed in the vessel. The only thing she could recall sounding like this were some devices in an old dwarven ruin she had encountered in Vvardenfel, but this seemed more elegant and less clunky than she was familiar with. The other was the ever-present reek of felshine, which threatened to overtake her clarity of thought with its mind-fogging properties.

As she turned a corner, the corridor she was in fed into a larger room. Above her head was some grating which allowed a decent amount of moonlight to enter and illuminate the chambers. There were vast reciprocals on the walls here, made of brilliant, shining bronze, which had connected to them equally beautiful metal tubes, all of which fed into the far wall. The beauty of such objects was sullied, though, by all the felshine which was pouring through the metalwork, filling the containers as well as a large reservoir in the middle of the room that was filled with what seemed to be the drug, although it smelled… cruder. Less refined. Yet still extremely enticing. As Habasi hugged the wall, she couldn't help but feel nervous. There was enough of the drug to last for years, decades even. Even the largest skooma dens would be lucky to have a fraction of the supply she saw here. And furthermore, she still didn't even know what this stuff was. But her destination was clear.

Two large loading doors were at the far said of the room, where the brass pipes led. She moved silently towards them, not letting her guard down for a moment. When she arrived she pressed an ear to the door. She could hear more noises—more machines, some odd grunting noises and something else, something she couldn't explain. She moved her paws to open the great doors, which easily parted to reveal the twisted heart of the ship.

When Habasi saw the room, she gasped in horror as she felt every strand of fur on her body bristle. In dozens of large, clear containers flanking the room were horrible, twisted creatures; like overgrown insects, writhing in pain. She could now clearly hear cries of agony slip from their overgrown mandibles, while their large pincer-like hands scratched at their transparent prisons. More horrible still were large tubes painfully latched to their thoraxes, forcefully sucking out a raw green liquid from their bodies. Tending to them were frightening stooped humanoids, which resembled a form of furry goblin, who maintained the myriad machines that moaned and rattled in every wall and corner of the room, monitoring and processing the substances that passed through them. Needless to say, the stench was overpowering.

As Habasi retched, she realized several of the goblinoids were glancing as the door. She slipped out, breathing heavily, her ears still violated by the frantic clawing of the bug-creatures, and her nose by the obscene amount of raw felshine. She reached into her pack and slipped out a torch which she deftly lit (she had read somewhere that goblins feared fire), as well as an old steel dagger. There were likely to be more of the hunchbacked monstrosities, and she would need Christophe's assistance to fully sabotage the operation. She just needed to know where Christophe was.

Her question, however, was swiftly answered by a horrible scream from above decks. Christophe's scream. Suddenly, she felt as though a vice had seized her heart, and for half a second couldn't respond. She then quickly shook off her dazed feeling and sprinted down the path she had taken before, working her way back to the surface of the vessel, trying to stay calm despite the liquid terror pumping through her veins. Like a blur she sped through the narrow walls until she saw the small hatch that she had entered from. Leaving all subtlety behind she burst through the opening and onto the deck.

She jerked her head to the other side of the ship to Christophe kneeling, grasping at his right arm. The sleeve was soaked in blood. Opposite him was a man clad in black holding what seemed to be a sickle attached to a long chain. Chrisophe noticed Habasi, and despair flooded over his already pained features. "Get out of here, kitten!" he labored, "You've got to warn S'Krivva!"

Habasi felt herself go lightheaded. This wasn't possible. "No! You've got to come with her!" she yelled, trying to get over a sudden bout of dizziness, "Run!"

"There isn't enough time!" Christophe barked in frustration, "Go!"

The Khajiit shook her head violently, "Not without you! Together!"

She reached out, but as soon as she did, the veiled man started to spin his chain. "What devotion," he called out, his merciless voice shattering the stillness of the night, "I had always assumed that you people only thought of yourselves. But it is of no matter. Both of you will die tonight. Make your peace with your gods."

The voice was familiar; Habasi had heard it before, the night before Agrippa was murdered. She clenched the dagger in her fist tightly. "You… You killed Agrippa!"

The blade at the end of the chain was now a blur spinning under the moonlight. It made a beautiful sound as it danced, but Habasi couldn't take her mind off the red stains that still coated it. Christophe's blood. "I did," replied the figure, "He spoke, he was a liability, I eliminated him. He has become just one of the many victims in my career."

Habasi pointed her dagger at the man, who was walking towards her slowly, as though he were an undertaker approaching a grave. "Habasi will not forgive you," she hissed, "She will _not _forgive you! You will be punished for what you've done, Habasi swears this!"

Christophe grabbed at his arm in total defeat, "Habasi, _**no!**_" he hollered,"You can't match him!"

The figure gave a cold laugh, colder than a winter midnight, colder than a brackish cavern-pool that had never known sunlight, colder than the lonely, icy spires of Skyrim or the desolate, forgotten glaciers of Solstheim. "You think that _you _have the _right _to punish me? Such arrogance amuses me. You will learn your place, beast, as all animals do."

Habasi bared her teeth as the distance between them slowly closed. She had fought opponents before, but he had a sort of determination about him that made her frightened. She braced herself, preparing for the coming fight…

* * *

Horns thundered across the Cormaris foothills as the first wave of Dunmer smashed into the front lines of Lex's army. Darius' Deathshead Legion, weary yet hardened, took the blunt of the blow. Redoran soldiers, wearing their tan, organic armor, cleaved through the first line, but were skewered in response, falling to the ground only to be trampled by new warriors, eager to replace their fallen allies. There was chaos, true, but the line was being held fast, and the soldiers showed no intention of running away, even when a swing of a Dunmeri mace smashed into their comrade's skull.

Lex, safely at a distance, surveyed the combat. "They still outnumber us," he muttered.

Darius frowned. "We have a secure position. We can hold this, at least for some time. Sala can't win if he just throws troops at us," he continued, as though he was thinking aloud, "He knows this. Why is he just throwing their lives away?"

On the opposite side of Lex, Sigrdríf stood with a small half-grin on her face, looking amused. "Tell me, imperator," she said, "What do you see?"

Lex looked over the battlefield. Most of the Redoran were striking at the center of the army, at its heart, where the Imperials were taking less casualties than they were inflicting. Standing at the ready were the Indoril, clad in beautiful armor, as though they were waiting for the chance to strike. The flanks, held by the mighty VIIth Legion, were being lightly harassed by Hlaalu skirmishers, but it was akin to horseflies pestering a mighty ox. At the far ends, Lex noticed the Imperial archers shooting into the Redoran and Indoril reserves, some of which made their mark. Lex shook his head. "We look safe."

"Don't be a moron," Sigrdríf immediately replied, "Look harder."

Lex's eyes narrowed. After a moment he heard a sharp intake of breath from Darius. "I don't understand," he repeated, with some frustration in his voice, "We're in a solid position."

"Which is soon going to evaporate," Darius muttered, sounding suddenly pessimistic.

"Order the VII's reserves to the flanks," said Sigrdríf decisively.

Lex turned and nodded to Guilliam, who sprinted off as soon as he got the signal. As the boy darted away, Lex shook his head. "I don't understand. Those white armored soldiers in the back—they can't attack us without running the gauntlet of arrows."

"I was never concerned about those _foot_ soldiers," Sigrdríf said. She looked less cocky now, although her voice was doing a good job of hiding it.

Lex frowned. "But you said… You said that horses can't survive in Morrowind. That the grass kills them."

"Oh, I did," Sigrdríf said, looking over the battlefield, "But you _assumed _that the only sort of mounted foes ride on horses. Look there… And listen," she finished, pointing towards the horizon.

Lex leaned forward. For several seconds he didn't see or hear anything besides the din of the battle. Yet after a few moments, he thought for a moment that he did hear something… A faraway, faint noise, like a mosquito or a gnat. But it slowly grew louder and louder, until it could be clearly heard. From far in the distance, Lex could make out odd, oblong objects moving quickly towards their position. His mouth slacked when he could actually make them out. Moving at speeds he didn't think possible were what seemed to be giant hornets, larger than any horse, tearing across the field with lethal intentions. On top of them were Dunmeri soldiers, carrying huge spears of bows, ready to kill. Their thunderous advance was focused on the far flanks… In the large mass of troops which Kirania was part of. Lex felt a wave of fear take over him. "What in the hell…?"

"House Dres," Darius said with the same sort of foreboding "The Dunmer cavalry."

"It all determines if they're reinforced in time…" Sigrdríf said, her intent gaze on the archers, and the hustling Nords trying to reach them before the monstrous chargers did, "If not, they'll be butchered..."

Lex's eyes widened. "Kirania…" he muttered, and felt his fist involuntarily clench.

The archers had now noticed the mass of insects flying on death's wings towards them, and started to flee. They weren't far from those who intended to save them. But it soon dawned on Lex that they were going to be too late. He gasped in horror as the first of the Dres' flyers reached the lightly armored archers, and their black mass began to overrun the Imperials, as well as Lex's young companion…

* * *

Count Corvus Umbranox stood deep within Castle Sentinel in front of an old, wooden door. At his feet were two guards, supposedly Sentinel's finest. The count nearly sneered at the mere memory of them—they each fell to a single blow. They weren't dead (that wasn't the count's style), but they were very much incapacitated. Yet the count was never one to rest on his laurels; not after the final guard's groan left his lips had Count Umbranox silently open the door and shut it, making less noise than the dripping of a leak in the dank depths of the fortress.

He was now in a small, narrow passageway which seemed to lead down to some sort of wine cellar. The count narrowed his eyes—this was certainly an odd location for royalty to be meeting with some foreign envoy, and an even odder hour of night. Slowly and silently he descended the stairs which led into another, better lit room. While there was plenty of wine, the count's attention was immediately drawn to the other end of the chamber. He could make out two figures in the poor light. One was Lhotun, King of Sentinel, looking rather meek and harried. His face had shrunken, and his robes hung loosely over his emaciating frame. Across from the king was another figure, a woman clad in black, who seemed to be far more filled with life. The count caught the sound of the king's raspy voice. "But I simply _couldn't. _It would go fully against hospitality…"

"Please, your highness," the woman interrupted, "You've already captured the two and held them against their will. We need to do this to show the Empire that we're serious."

The count's face darkened further. The woman had masked it well, but he could catch a wisp of her original accent. What disturbed him is that is sounded like nothing he had ever heard in Tamriel. The king sighed and shook his head, "But it's so cruel, so… Wrong. I couldn't possibly…" he stuttered, "Don't you think this has gone on long enough?"

"Sire?" the woman responded, surprise evident in her voice, "Whatever do you mean?"

Lhotun had aged before his time. His face was deeply set with wrinkles and liver spots, and his hair was more gray than black, an oddity in Redguards. "I believe this war has gone on too long… I trusted you when you first gave me the arguments, but we've merely thrown the bay back into chaos. It is as though the Miracle of Peace was for nothing…"

"No, don't tell yourself that!" the woman cut in, "Daggerfall and Wayrest would've struck eventually. Soon the latter will fall, and Daggerfall will have to sue for peace on your terms, maybe even become a vassal! _Then _a true and lasting peace will come to the bay, sire!"

Lhotun frowned "You are altogether too eager about this 'peace', _demon_," he spat, emphasizing his last word.

The woman put a hand to her chest. "You harm me with your words, sire," she said in a hurt tone, "I merely am a humanitarian envoy. To see your people prosper would give me nothing but the greatest pleasure."

The count silently moved behind a large keg where he could both be unseen yet still see the two figures. "I've had enough of your half-truths," Lhotun countered (or did what was as close to a counter as a beaten man like himself could manage), "I _know _you want something from us. But until now I felt as though our aims were mutually beneficial… How foolish I was."

The count leaned in despite himself, hardly believing what was going on. The woman apparently had not planned for this resolution to her conversation. "Sire, please—"

"What I am curious as to now, fiend, is why you are so intent on killing the count and his wife. Is it merely to goad the Empire?"

The count's eyes widened as the woman put her hands out in front of herself, as though to block the accusations, "Your royal highness, I just think that a renewed, stronger policy against Imperial corruption would be best for Sentinel."

"No, demon! You twist your words; you try to ensnare me deeper into your web—no longer! Why is the count's death so important? Why is war so necessary for you? Was my original assessment about you right all along!?" he demanded, his voice starting to finally get some fire to it, "Was the Crisis just the beginning to your twisted plan!?"

"I can assure you," the woman said, her voice growing ever more desperate, "That I only have the purest intentions for your—"

She suddenly stopped. The king was taken aback, and the room was plunged immediately into silence. The count blinked once and tried to get a closer look at what the woman was doing. She stood in silence for a few moments, as though she were weighing her options. Then, with a sudden flick of her wrist, she produced a single, dazzling shuriken. The king gasped, as her arm shot out, whipping the metal star directly at the keg which the count was hiding behind. Count Umbranox thought he had a moment of time to think, but to his shock and even horror the throwing star penetrated one end of the keg and sailed through the other as though it were made of paper, not even to note the wine inside. The count gave a sudden, instinctive roll to avoid the shrunken hitting him at the absolute last second, but at a terrible price. When his mind came to he realized he was in the middle of the room, in plain sight of the king and the mysterious woman. He stood and faced them resolutely; Lhotun seemed frightened, but the woman, despite her face being obscured, was clearly amused. "My, my! The man of the hour shows his face!" she said with a small clap of her hands, "That was amazing, Count Umbranox! I had no idea that you could dodge one of my special little treasures! It seems your vulpine ways haven't fully degenerated, have they?"

The count gave a visible, startled step backwards. That word she had used… She _couldn't _have known… _No one _knew, save the one… Try as he might to remember, he had never been taken more off guard. "What are you talking about?" he stuttered.

The woman gave a scornful laugh as she summoned another shuriken to her wrists, "Oh, don't play that card with me. I know all about you. You honestly thought that you could keep such a divine secret for so long? No, I think we should have a little chat, Corvus Umbranox," she said, mockery dripping off her voice with every word, "And we'll see just how cunning you really are."

The count fumed in anger. He had no idea how he could've been trapped into the situation so easily. He glanced to the door, but before he could even consider moving, the woman laughed again. "I never miss twice, you know."

"Fine, girl," he said, shooting daggers at the woman, "We will talk. And we'll see just how hard it is to outwile a fox."

* * *

Whatever semblance of order that had existed on the Cormaris plain had flickered away like so many lives had this morning. The wasp-cavalry had poured over the archers, the lucky ones simply were skewered by the long lances, the unlucky ones impaled by the huge, barbed stingers, reeling on the earth in pain as they died. Their horrified screams unsettled all but the most hardened, as did the horrible buzzing sound that accompanied the mounted Dunmeri. They attempted, it seemed, to not just rout the archers, but fly around back and crush the Deathshead in a pincer move. However, Sigrdríf's valiant men intercepted a vast majority of them, their battleaxes smashing through the wasps' chitinous hides. Some, however, managed to mangle their Nord opponents just as easily as they had the archers, and fewer still broke through into Darius' spearmen. Lex could hear their screams of surprise as the enemy smashed into them from both the front and the back, and the tide of battle began to turn.

The Indoril soldiers withdrew their maces and scimitars in unison and pointed them towards the wearying Redoran allies. They charged into the front lines, but where the Redoran seemed to be waves crashing upon a cliff, the new, elite stoops eradicated an entire row of legionaries in their first charge alone. They fought like men possessed, bloodily fleecing the lines as they grew closer and closer to breaking the Imperial formation.

In the generals' position, Lex could scarcely believe his eyes. "This is madness," he breathed.

Sigrdríf clicked her tongue. "And I was so hoping that we would have been able to stop those wasps. This… Complicates matters."

Darius gave a bitter laugh. "Merely complicates? I think we should conceder retreat."

"Never," replied Sigrdríf, "We will _never _run away from these creatures. Where is your boy?" she asked, looking to Lex.

The imperator looked about himself, "I… I don't know. Guilliam should've returned by now."

Sigrdríf gave a frustrated sigh. She turned to a nearby soldier in the honor guard. "Go back to the caravan and wheel out the weapon," she barked, "On the double!"

As the soldier ran off, both Lex and Darius turned to her. "I don't recall you mentioning any weapon we needed to wheel in," said Lex.

The Nord shook her hair about her and refocused her attention to the battle. "It's a secret weapon, so to speak. I couldn't allow spies to get word of it, so I didn't tell either of you."

Darius' face contorted in anger. "You _what!? _You've been keeping tactics from us, making your own plans? There is no excuse for this!"

Sigrdríf turned and sneered in response, "Oh come on, Darius. I know your political leanings. You love these little red-eyes. In fact, rumor has it that you were… Intimate with one back up in Gnisis."

"That is completely beside the point—"

"Is it?" Sigrdríf said, cutting him off, "Remember, we only are working with you because of necessity. When this is all over, I'm going to look into your records, you know. Recently you've had this knack for pulling defeats out from the jaws of victory; I'm curious as to whether you've got a sudden case of incompetency or if your loyalties—"

"Enough!" shouted Lex, "I will not have you two accusing each other of treason here. But general, I need to know why you would keep such information from _me_."

Sigrdríf smiled at Lex, seeming much less agitated looking at him. "Please, imperator, I mean not to offend. I have full trust in you, but those you surround yourselves with, like that girl… Their loyalty is not assured."

Lex was unconvinced. "I see myself as a good judge of character."

Sigrdríf gave him a sad smile in return. "At least that's what you _assume._"

Darius did not look altogether pleased with this turn of events. "I wonder," he bitterly spat, "How many other strategic decisions our good general decided to keep from her peers."

Immediately after the words left his mouth there was a loud cracking noise, and a tall, heavily armored man appeared in front of the three. There were other sudden cracks as dozens of similar dressed men appeared behind him in formation. The first man kneeled before Sigrdríf, and his followers did likewise. "I am Captain Commodus, from the Fifth Division of the Imperial College of Battlemages," he announced with an urgency to his voice, "How can we serve?"

Lex shot Sigrdríf a bewildered glance; Darius' was significantly less benign. Sigrdríf gave a short, nervous laugh and pointed towards her superior. "You should probably kneel before him."

Captain Commodus nodded and pivoted to face Lex, still on one knee. His companions followed suit. "I am Captain Commodus, from the Fifth Division of the Imperial College of Battlemages," he repeated with the same forceful tone, "How can we serve?"

Lex shook his head. "Go reinforce the front lines. Hurry before they snap."

The battlemage nodded and stood. He yelled an order and started sprinting towards the battle, with his soldiers following behind him. Sigrdríf gave Lex an apologetic smile. "At least we have reinforcements," she pointed out, "This is a net positive. And far more dramatic than if you had known ahead of time, don't you agree?"

Darius snorted. "Perhaps it is _I_ who needs to look into _you_ when this is over, Battle-Singer. It's almost treasonous to keep such information from your superiors."

"Peace," said Lex, "We'll not be consumed by infighting."

Darius was silent after that, and Sigrdríf seemed quite content. The Indoril ranks seemed wavered slightly as the battle turned against them and they were overtaken by huge blasts of fire, ice, and shock. The conflagration confused the Redoran soldiers, who fell back, running into the Indroril, causing the elite shock troops to be in a more challenging position. As the battlemages grew short on magicka, they drew their weapons and rallied Darius' men. Their steel smashed into the Indoril's ornate armor, and it seemed that for once the odds were evened. Sigrdríf allowed herself a smile while Darius looked on in caution. Lex watched a curiously large wagon being wheeled over near their position while several scholarly looking Bretons started to unpack what was inside.

Midway into the fighting, though, over the sounds of clanging metal and tearing flesh, an odd noise rolled over the field. The members of the Imperial Legion who weren't in immediate danger looked around to find the source, as did a few of the Dunmer. It was an odd, mournful sound, like an animal that had just lost its mate; it was a low and deep echo which stirred something in Lex's soul. Darius and Sigrdríf looked far less sentimental. Both were now back to a state of shock, and even fear. Lex looked to both of them. "What is it?" he asked, "What made that noise?"

"It couldn't be…" muttered Sigrdríf, "They couldn't possibly have…"

"Impossible," agreed Darius, "The temperament of the beasts is all wrong. I've never even heard of _rumors _like this."

"What?" Lex asked again, "What is it?"

Sigrdríf leaned forward, and her already normally white face managed to pale. "All-Mother Kyne," she whispered, "They did it."

Lex looked forward, and for several seconds was sure that his eyes were deceiving him. Striding towards the field of battle were huge creature that Lex had never seen before. They looked like giant ticks, with massive, spindly legs which kept them very far off the ground, roughly the height of a watchtower. There were five in all, and as they grew closer Lex noticed that they were armored. Another sorrowful warble emanated from them, which in turn rallied the Dunmer who began to fight with a new ferocity. Sigrdríf leaned back and gave a bitter, pained smile. "I have to give that Sala credit. He made the impossible possible."

"Silt striders," Darius muttered, apparently for Lex's benefit, "Used mainly as transportation. Despite their size, they're extremely skittish, and have never been used like this before. We need to give the word to fall back. I had no idea that Sala would use such a weapon."

Sigrdríf glanced towards the wagon, "No," she insisted, "We can kill them. Trust me. All I need it time. Give me time, and I can topple those beasts."

It was now Darius' turn to give a mirthless smile. "Do you truly believe that we have such a luxury to give?"

Lex watched as the striders grew near, wondering if they really did have the time Sigrdríf insisted on, and if his faith in her would cost him his life…

* * *

Habasi stood on the deck of the Ghost Ship, resolved to kill whoever it was who was standing before her. His sickle glimmered under the moonlight, making a piercing whistling sound as it spun round and round, drawing ever closer to Habasi's position. The area they were in was large and mostly empty, with the only main features being the metal cylinders hanging off the sides of the ship and the large grating with was under the figure's feet. Habasi could only assume it emptied into the large room with the felshine vat. The figure seemed confident. "You're going to die here," he bellowed, "Do you have any last words that you wish to speak?"

Habasi snarled. "This one has been in far worse positions than this!" she hissed.

"I doubt it," the figure responded, and without a moment's notice, directed the blade.

It moved far faster than Habasi had anticipated. It made a loud, whooshing noise as it cut the very air, speeding towards Habasi's position. She threw herself to the left at the last moment, but could feel the wind it pushed aside brush her face. Even with both hands occupied she landed with some sort of grace, only to see that the figure had already returned the blade to his hand as the chain retracted. A second later he threw it again, and once more Habasi barely tumbled from its reach, this time stumbling a step. The figure sneered. "Impressive," he commented, he retracted the chain towards himself, "But let us see if you can maintain such dexterity."

Habasi could only get a couple of breaths in before the blade sped past her head once more. She desperately tried to get out of the and nearly collapsed. The figure laughed in a tone that befitted a devil as Christophe called out to the panting Khajiit, "Run, Habasi! Get to the boat!"

The figure glanced at the Redguard. He flicked the sickle towards the kneeling man, which sped at the same frightening velocity it had towards Habasi. There was a flash of blood which blossomed in the night sky, and then a stillness. Habasi couldn't move, she couldn't breathe. Her body locked itself into rigidness as her ears picked out the sounds of the chain being withdrawn as long forgotten memories assaulted her mind.

A click. _"You know, you've got quite a lovely coat there, kitten. I bet you J'Krivva would give just about anything for it."_

A click. _"You know I'm not one to be bound to tradition."_

A click. _"I've no idea why J'Krivva is so jealous. What do you have that she doesn't? Sometimes I wish that we could just work alone…"_

A click. _"Habasi… When this job is over, and we're doyens, I want to show you something."_

A click. _"Don't be so damn naive! We're a _Thieves' _Guild; you've got to have known what was going to happen!"_

A click. _"Morrowind? Don't be an idiot. You've still got a future here, don't throw it away over such… Personal matters. I thought you could separate your professional life from your—Argh!"_

A click. _"I'm… Sorry."_

The rising anger burst as Habasi howled at the night sky. The figure turned his head as best he could, but before he could react he saw the Khajiit's torch flying through the air towards him. The flame grazed his cloak and continued moving; and he watched the torch with great concern as it continued through the air. By the time it had reached the ground he looked back at Habasi. "You thought to set me aflame?" his voice shook as he turned his head, "A bold strategy, but—!"

Habasi was already in front of him, fury in her eyes and her dagger raised high. She lunged, and he sidestepped out of the way. She kept the momentum up with two quick slices at him which he dodged, his solid frame moving surprisingly fast. Habasi attempted a more powerful thrust at him, growling in anger, but he was too fast. She made a slight stumble as she missed, which was all the opening he needed to slam himself into her back. Habasi felt herself being launched from the deck into the air. Her body flew over the ship like a puppet before she smashed back into the wood again. Her arms and legs flailed as she rolled across the deck until she managed to stop herself. The pain was horrid—as she tried to pull herself back up she realized that her foot must've been broken. As she looked up she could see the figure moving towards her slowly. "Most excellent," he stated, "But as I told you, futile. Make peace with whatever myths you worship; the end is now."

The thief looked about herself. Her dagger was gone; perhaps now sinking into the ocean. The only thing within arm's reach was her still smoldering torch. Looking back, she could see the figure slowly starting to spin his sickle again, shining in its fresh coat of blood. Habasi gritted her teeth as she slowly and painfully rose to her feet. Despite her lack of faith in anything divine, she couldn't help but long for a miracle, because that was about the only thing that could save her…

* * *

The silt striders moved across the field of battle unopposed. The wavering legionaries actually moved out of the way to dodge their massive legs, with the occasional connecting axe strike proving totally ineffective, along with any weak spell, magicka depleted thrown by one of the battlemages. The field started to quiet, with soldiers who weren't in immediate danger stopping their attacks and looking in awe at the colossal insects. The beasts slowly came to a halt in the middle of the field, swaying slightly on their oversized legs and moaning woefully in lament over the fallen. For about a minute there was an unearthly calm that descended over the battle. Then, coming from previously unnoted narrow slits in the creatures' carapaces, came the arrows.

Lex was taken aback in shock as bladed rain poured from the creatures, tearing into the already wavering legionaries. The gentle, ethereal noises of the striders were overwhelmed by the new screams of the Imperials, pinned in place by arrows, with the elite Indoril ordinators pressing in for the kill. Next to Lex, Darius was in a near panic. "We need to fall back!" he nearly screamed, "_Now. _We _can't _handle these with what we have now!"

"No," Sigrdríf insisted, her voice nearly calm, "We can still win this, and this is our only chance."

Lex glanced to his left, where the wagon was empty. Replacing it were two tall wooden posts erected into the ground, as though the Bretons were attempting to build an exceptionally narrow tower. Scattered about were other large pieces of wood, which were being added to create a form totally alien to the Imperial. Sigrdríf looked at Lex, her blue eyes as frigid and unmoving as ice. "Well, imperator?" she asked, "Will you be brave and valorous and grasp victory, or will you flee as Darius would have you? I swear by my ancestors, if you give me just a few more minutes, my men out there will not have died in vain."

Lex looked to Darius, whose face conveyed extreme disapproval. He looked to the field where the army was desperately fending off the huge beasts along with the Indoril and the remaining Dres cavalry. He closed his eyes in frustration for a few seconds. All he wanted was a moment to _think, _a fleeting second to weigh his options, to reflect, to make the correct option. But all he could hear were the twangs of bowstrings, the howling sound of arrows, the screams of death; there was no peace. He grabbed at his head in frustration, but before he could think of anything, he felt a hand on his shoulder and his mind quickly rushed back to the waking world, where Sigrdríf stood, waiting for her response.

"… We'll give you your minutes," he said at last.

Sigrdríf smiled, although Lex wasn't sure if there was any true hope to it. For a moment, she seemed like the last snow before spring; bold, defiant, yet doomed to melt regardless of anything it strove to accomplish. He turned his attention elsewhere, to the striders. While four of them were content to wreak havoc from the middle of the battlefield, one in particular started to move. It only took a few seconds for Lex to realize where it was headed. Towards the command camp. Towards him. Darius seemed to realize it, too. "Quickly, get the guard here!" he snapped, "Protect the imperator at all costs!"

The strider was moving quickly now, faster than Lex had seen it in the past. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead as several heavily armored guards appeared at his sides. Darius was yelling orders to and fro, while Sigrdríf's attention was still on her secret weapon. The minutes ticked by as the wooden construct took form, resembling a catapult in some ways, but it was far too tall. During those same minutes the strider grew closer and closer, stepping over any who attempted to attack it, and covering everyone near it with a hail of arrows. Lex noticed balls of fire shooting from the other four farther away, and heard Darius mutter the word "Telvanni…" under his breath.

Soon, the strider was within striking range. It shot a few arrows at Lex's position, most missing widely. Sigrdríf clicked her tongue. "We need more time!" she hissed.

The strider grew closer and more arrows shot from it, these missing a good deal less. Lex's guard closed around him and put up their shields, attempting to form a protective shell around him. As the strider moved to bear its berth, and therefore the majority of its destructive capacity, Lex lost sight as the shield wall overtook him. All he could see were the wooden backings of the shields, but noises flooded his ears. He made out the sound of dozens of bows and the clunking of arrowheads colliding into the steel around him, louder than he had ever heard before—the explosive sounds of fire and burning about him, too… Soon, the occasional shield fell and left a small opening in the defense as the arrows refused to let up, pounding and pounding and _pounding _upon Lex's position.

Hieronymus Lex realized that if something didn't happen soon, he was going to die.


	27. The Battle of Cormaris Lake, Part II

Hieronymus Lex realized that if something didn't happen soon, he was going to die.

By now the sound of the arrows had subsided, and there was a second of calm. The shield wall, which had started as completely impenetrable, had large gaps where the soldiers had been struck down by arrows. The legionaries broke the formation, which had lost most of its strategic merit, letting Lex see what was happening around him. About half of his guard were dead. Nearby he caught sight of Darius laying on the ground with a blank expression on his face. There were three arrows embedded in his chest.

Standing before him was the strider. He could hear the noises of bowstrings being replucked, and now the majority of the arrow slits were pointing in his direction. An odd emotion filled his body—On one hand there was the unimaginable dread knowing that death was inevitable, with the throb of humor in his temples and a feeling as though an invisible arm had grabbed his heart and was dragging it down, down into his stomach. Yet it was oddly liberating, too. There was nothing he could do. It was out of his hands. And in that mixture of despair and relaxation, he didn't notice Sigrdríf.

Moving like a yellow blur, she interposed herself between the imperator and the behemoth. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and began sucking in air. It was a gradual intake of breath, but done with extreme urgency and haste—it was clear that there was enormous gravity to this action. As she did so, there was a bark from within the beast. Twinkling arrowheads appeared between the slots carved into the creature's hide, pointing at the officers menacingly. Sigrdríf's chest bulged farther out as her fists tightened and her body shook, and there was the sound of air being vacuumed from the area around her into the frosty depths of her lungs. Another command was issued from within the strider, and the arrows were pulled back in unison, ready to be shot out. Meanwhile, Sigrdríf's inhale was growing stronger, far stronger than the demonstration Lex saw at the tent so many weeks ago. Now there was a howling sound, bits of dirt and grass were lifted off the ground and were flown into her mouth, but that didn't stop her. It was as though she herself was now a gale, the screaming wind as it races about the rocky crags of her homeland, unfettered and uncontrollable. The arrows were loosed, and a moment later, Sigrdríf screamed.

The force of the bellow alone shoved her body back, her firmly planted heels plowing into the ground as she was set back about two feet and creating spiderwebs of cracked earth around her. The noise itself was unbelievable, almost unworldly. Much like how the skin feels as though it is being stabbed by exposure to freezing cold water, Lex's body felt struck merely by being in the vicinity of such a blaring sound. He watched dumbfounded as an enormous globe of shimmering, sonic force rushed forth from the general. The arrows, which were cutting through the sky with lethal speed, were knocked away by Sigrdríf's voice, falling harmlessly on the ground around her. The sound itself smashed into the chitinous hide of the Silt Strider like a boulder. The creature's plaintive moans suddenly warped into frantic, horrifying screams. Lex saw the shell of the creature begin to crack and fall to pieces as it's long legs failed it. The beast continued to make its wails as it smashed into the ground with a clamorous thud and was still. The Silt Strider was dead.

Lex stood, swaying despite himself, but Sigrdríf wasted no time. She immediately turned and sprinted to the imperator's position. She was extremely winded, but her most outstanding feature was her left eye was completely missing, and in its place was a long, barbed arrow. Bloody freely flowed down her face, leaving her wincing in pain, but still with a fatalistic zeal in her ice-touched eye that remained. "Imperator!" she slowly gasped between breaths, "You… Are you unharmed?"

Lex's wooziness departed him, leaving him only with shock. "General, your eye…!"

Sigrdríf shook her head in annoyance, "Don't mind me," she managed, "You, are you safe?"

"By the Nine, woman!" Lex said with disbelief, "You've lost your eye!"

Sigrdríf growled in frustration. She grabbed the shaft of the arrow and split it in two, tossing the unneeded wood away. The head of the arrow, though, was still lodged somewhere in the bloody mess. "Ignore that, dammit!" she snapped, "Do you have any wounds!?"

The imperator shook his head. "No," he said, still looking at his companion's grievous wound, "I'm fine."

"Good," she muttered through gritted teeth, "My vision is failing me. How goes the battle?"

Lex glaned over the battlefield. The four other striders were still very much alive, shooting death over the breaking legions. Lex scowled, "If we don't do something about those insects…" he mused darkly.

Sigrdríf gave what sounded like a laugh, although it was clearly consumed with pain. "Oh, we'll kill those fleas. Look," she said, pointing behind Lex.

Lex turned around and took a step back in surprise. Sigrdríf's secret weapon was now complete—a massive wooden construct of beams and ropes, standing about four stories tall. The Bretons now were scribbling profusely on small scraps of paper, and yelling out orders. "What the devil is that?" Lex asked.

"This," Sigrdríf wheezed, "Is the apex of siege technology and the ultimate weapon of the great workshops of High Rock. This, imperator…"

She trailed off, and just in time for two of the massive beams to suddenly fall to the ground. What seemed to be a massive wooden counterweight collapsed inside, causing the ends of the beams to snap back with surprising force. Three massive boulders flew from the construct, sailing effortlessly through the air. Lex watched their trajectory as the three smashed into the side of a silt strider, shattering it's chitin hull as though it was glass. Despite her wounds, Sigrdríf found the strength to smile, "This is the trebuchet."

The strider gave it's ethereal howl as it stumbled, and a second later collapsed with a deafening crash right into a Redoran regiment, crushing dozens. The Dunmer were shaken, and the nearby soldiers fell back to regroup as the now cautiously optimistic legionaries pressed forward. At the command camp, Sigrdríf managed an order to reload the trebuchet. Lex looked at the thing silently, in a near reverence of the weapon that was now single handedly turning the tide of the battle. He turned his attentions back to Sigrdríf, but noticed that she had doubled over, and was breathing in deep, pained gasps. "General," he said with concern.

"The battle, imperator," she managed, "How is the battle…?"

Lex looked towards the fray, which was quickly becoming an even fight. "We're doing better," he said.

Sigrdríf fell on to her knees, but nodded at the statement. Lex now noticed that a second arrow had pierced her side, breaking the thin chain which allowed her chest to expand while she breathed in. Lex examined the wound, "You've been struck there as well," he said warily.

"I'll be fine," Sigrdríf replied, her voice almost a whisper, "I'll be fine…"

Lex shook his head. "Fall back to the healers, now, Battle-Singer," he said decisively, "That's an order."

Sigrdríf said nothing for a moment and only shook in pain. However, after a few seconds she rose slowly to her feet and looked at Lex. Her face and hair were matted with blood, but despite the pain she managed a weary, "Yes, sir."

Two of the remaining guards quickly swooped in and hoisted her upright, and helped move her towards an area of camp where she could get some medical attention. Lex watched her silently for a moment before looking back to the bloody fields. He heard the sound of the trebuchet nearby, like a felled tree, and watched as three more massive stones were lofted airborn, narrowly missing a silt strider, but slaughtering a force of ordinators. The battle was even now, but with Sigrdríf incapacitated and Darius dead, he was truly alone now. Victory or defeat would be determined by his actions alone he realized, as he felt the weighty mantle of command set upon his shoulder.

* * *

Corvus Umbranox continued to stare down the cloaked woman deep under Castle Sentinel. She seemed less than intimidated. "First the good king, now someone of your reputation, my dear count! Who would've guessed that someone of my birth would've met such individuals?"

Lhotun took a step forward, looking as haggard as ever, "Please, Count Anvil, this is a very large misunderstanding, I never—"

He was cut off as a shuriken from the cloaked figure shot out and struck at the ground just in front of his feet. He flinched in fear and huddled into himself, giving the woman a glance made of equal parts anger and fear. "The _arrogance!_" he wheezed.

"Spare me, your highness," she sneered, "I was merely attempting to preserve your long legacy of honesty. The count here was to be murdered in cold blood, and his corpse desecrated. Afterwards, my dear count, you were to be hand delivered to Ocato, and your corpse visible to every citizen in the Imperial City. I personally liked that plan, even if some of my comrades found it… Overly dramatic."

The count twisted his lip. "Then why aren't you striking? Afraid that I can take you?"

The woman gave a short laugh, as cruel as it was melodic. "No, not at all. You were once great, Fox, but you are now a relic. I, on the other hand, am one of the harbingers of a new era. If I really wanted you dead, you would be."

"Fox?" Lhotun inquired.

"Yes, Fox," the cloaked figure reiterated, starting to pace about the room, "Count Corvus Umbranox, born on the twentieth of Rain's Hand, 3e 389. You were always called a bit of a rogue by your peers, as you know; none of them liked you. You stole the heart of your wife despite bringing very little wealth or connections to the castle. Some said they disliked your chaotic nature, others said that those close minded counts envied the real love you and Millona shared… Then you vanished, for ten years, breaking that poor woman's heart. Why?"

The count continued to scowl, his face a stormcloud. Lhotun looked between the two figures, perplexed. "It was because he was captured by pirates, wasn't it?"

The figure shook her head. "Pirates," she scoffed, "It still kills me how easily the world bought that lie. Regardless, it is impolite of us to talk about you past when the good king here doesn't even know what we're talking about. This is no time to exchange witticisms—let's just say the truth. Corvus Umbranox was in actuality the Gray Fox, played that role for ten years, and then finally stole and used an Elder Scroll to rewrite history itself to reinclude him! Isn't that right, Coruvs?" she finished, leaning in with eagerness.

Lhotun shook his head violently. "Preposterous!" he managed, "That's just not possible! The Gray Fox is a fairytale, and—"

He was interrupted, though, by the sound of clapping. Count Umbranox was angrily, forcefully applauding, his face as frustrated as ever. "Capital, miss. I had no idea anyone knew, save a select few."

The woman curtsied, "I aim to please."

"What in the world…?" Lhotun managed, "This can't be true…"

"Tell me, miss," he count spat, "How could you find such information when I kept such knowledge restricted to an extremely limited pool? I know my wife would never tell, and my associate who made the whole reclamation possible… I doubt that you gained the information that way, either."

The woman laughed again. She had a spirited laugh, and at first it sounded as though it belonged to a youthful woman, fresh and full of life. But Count Umbranox was too well traveled to stop analyzing anything at first appearances. Her laugh had nearly a manufactured quality to it; it was identical to one she had given before. She had practiced it. Before the count could continue to think, she began to speak. "My dear count, do you know what you did? You _rewrote _history! You put your own mortal will against Nocturne's. You threw out the standard laws of the universe and set new ones in place! Do you think that this is a common occurrence? Do you realize the power that flared from Colovia that day when you harnessed whatever force you used, blazing like an arcane beacon? Where I come from, we have elders that would translate to 'Apocalypse Watchers' in your tongue, who spend their lives divining such cosmic events. The only thing comparable to this were the dragon breaks… And the Glorious Apotheosis, of course."

The count wasn't yet satisfied. "You learned my entire past through that single event?"

"Don't be silly," the woman replied, "I also sleuthed around a little, too. I think that I would've made even you proud, Gray Fox."

"Who are you?"

The figure shook her head. "I can't tell you that. Especially because you're the one here who's going to be living."

Lhotun gave a visible start. "What are you talking about!?"

"A change of plans," the figure said sweetly, then tossed the shuriken straight at the King of Sentinel, striking him between the eyes.

King Lhotun grabbed at his head for a moment as he collapsed, but his spasms soon ceased. The count looked disgusted, and took a few moments choosing his words. "You… Murdered him," he said at last, looking at the dead king.

"Oh, don't act so surprised," she said bemused, "We got so wrapped up talking about metaphysics that I nearly forgot politics. Sentinel was a lost cause anyway, you see. It wasn't like Morrowind or the Altmer—No one wanted the war. But one was needed you see, so I made it. Lhotun was never really on board, and I knew I was going to have to dispose of him sooner or later. But this is the mark of a true professional, isn't it? Creative improvisation."

The count clenched his fist. "Do you make a habit of regicide?"

The woman laughed again, it's melodic qualities still laced with a primal, frigid darkness. "_I _didn't kill anyone, Corvus. _You _did. Just imagine—the King of Sentinel assassinated by a mad, insane count. The ramifications of this are to _die _for. And you'll escape, no doubt, with your lovely wife, so long as you flee now."

The count glanced up the stairs towards the door, and then back towards the woman. "Somehow, I doubt you'll just let me walk away with knowing what I do."

"Somehow," she said as she seemed to merge into the shadows themselves, "I doubt you'll really be able to do anything about it."

And like that, she was gone, and he was alone. The count clicked his tongue. It was only a matter of time before the guards would find the corpse. He hadn't much time. As the count sped up the stairs his mind was unusually unfocused, switching to and fro between the murder of the king, and the motives of the one who did it…

* * *

Berel Sala wanted to be on the battlefield, as he had been during Crisis. It was on the field of battle where he had proved himself not two years ago, and honor dictated that he should be there, fighting with his men.

Honor.

Hler had advised against if, of course. The grizzled old man had emphasized the importance of Sala's safety, that the continued survival of the two of them were excrutatingly important symbols, and he couldn't risk death simply because of some old Indoril creed. Lord Vivec, after all, would've argued a more subtle approach to the general's role in combat that ignorant Westerners would call deceitful; the poet-warrior would've argued an approached that disregarded "honor".

Honor.

Sala clenched his fist. Whatever Sigrdríf had produced had surprised him like nothing else. The Silt Striders were his trump card, his ace in the hole, and he never assumed for a moment that they would be overcome like this. Even this far away from the fray he could hear the screams of the striders as the third fell, right on top of some Hlaalu skirmishers. He couldn't stand for this. He wouldn't stand for this. His hand slowly descended down to his scimitar as he glanced at a nearby aide. "Ready my mount," he said quickly, "I intend to enter the fray."

The savant nodded and scurried off. As Sala returned to surveying the battlefield he watched as the legionaries started to push against the Tribune's tide, their rallying cries audible from even here. As he readied himself for the battle, he suddenly realized that he wasn't alone at this post anymore. He didn't even need to turn his head to know who stood next to him. "Why are you here?" he asked almost wearily, not taking his eyes off the battle.

"You noticed me, eh?" said an all too familiar voice, "I'm impressed."

Sala flared his nostrils, "Just tell me what you want and begone. If you haven't noticed, this isn't a good time."

"I noticed," the voice responded matter-of-factly, "But I have something important to tell you. Then again, to get past those witch hunters you've got around the perimeter, I'd have to have something urgent."

The ordinator didn't respond. "Well," the voice continued, "I came with something you'll want to know. It's a riddle."

Sala shook his head, his eyes never leaving the field of battle. "Oh, this is going to be rich."

"You don't need to be so insulting," the other man replied with a hurt tone, "None of my comrades ever want to hear my riddles either. But this is a really good one. Are you ready?"

The Dunmer glanced to see if his mount had been prepared. It hadn't. "… Go on," he said at last looking back towards the battle.

"Here it is: Why would the Blades murder Tholer Saryoni, a retired old man who posed no threat to them?" the voice asked innocently, "Why would they go to the effort of assassinating a cloistered old priest, but one who was well guarded?"

Sala's face darkened, "The death of the patriarch is _nothing_ to make light of," he said dangerously.

"You didn't answer the question," the voice responded, now noticeably less playful.

The dark elf closed his blood-red eyes and took a deep, frustrated breath in. "The Imperials have _always _despised us and our customs, outlander," he said, every word carrying a grim determination, "They are a blight who, like the House of Troubles, need no explanation for the havoc they cause."

The voice sighed, "You're no good at riddles," he commented, "And for the former head of the Order of the Watch, you're amazingly blind. Haven't you asked yourself _who _would benefit from the death of Archcanon Saryoni? Is it really the Empire, or is it…?"

Sala opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, a thought occurred to him. Hler. Fedris Hler. An former assassin who had no qualms with killing. An statesman with a burning ambition. A clergyman who seemed less pious by the day. A military leader who had huge resources at his command. And a man who was threatened by the still faithful Saryoni. A man whose authority paled before Saryoni. A man who didn't want Saryoni opposing his new order. Fedris Hler.

"Hler."

Sala turned and looked at his guest. The man's cloak was as black as he remembered, and his odd trove of knowledge still as inexhaustible as it had been in the past. The cloaked man laughed darkly. "See? It took a little hint, but I knew you'd get it in the end," he said, his voice carried on black wings.

"I've been used," Sala nearly spat.

"Yes, you have," agreed the man, "And you know, once you're done here, Hler won't need you, either."

Sala turned from the battlefield and looked towards the large insect being led towards him. "Not if I have anything to say about it," he said forcefully, walking to his mount.

The figure nodded and slowly vanished, as though he was diffusing into the air itself. Sala called off the guard who looked rather concerned at the stranger's presence and deftly saddled the insect. But instead of entering the fray he sent the beast north, away from the combat, towards the more permanent base camp. Sala was gone within moments.

On a nearby bluff, the figure reappeared. He watched as the fourth silt strider was killed, felled to the earth like an ancient tree. The Dunmer were starting to panic. Even though their position was even with the Imperials, the mental picture of their undefeatable walkers being toppeled one after another, as well as the missing shots crushing the soliders in reserve, was not having a good effect on morale. The figure chuckled to himself. "This is pathetic. It's like they _want _to lose."

He scoffed again and vanished once more.

The tide of Cormaris had shifted once again, for the final time.

* * *

Habasi's mind was desperately reeling through every contingency she could think of—anything she could possibly do to save herself, some way she could somehow save Christophe from that _thing _slowly, unstoppably advancing towards her. It was almost an elemental force, unstoppable, uncontainable, it's robes seemingly blending into the night sky, fusing into the night. "This is not an ignoble death," it stated, every word like a drumbeat, smacking into her dizzy mind, "Death awaits all."

It's sickle-chain whorled in the night sky, spinning ever faster. And try as Habasi might to think, to be calm under duress, the hallmark of a professional, she couldn't. All she could hear was the swooshing of the blade and the sound of her own heart throbbing at her temples. Her vision was dizzying, and her attempt to stand was immediately thwarted by her ankle—it was in horrible pain. And so, she did what all cornered beasts do when they run out of options, act erratically.

She desperately snatched the torch near her tail and shrieked at the figure, reverting to almost a feral mindset. Habasi hurled the torch as hard as she could at him, which unfortunately wasn't greatly effective in her weak state. The torch sailed through the air, and the figure instinctively, nearly casually snapped his bladed chain and cut it in half. The two halves fell at his feet. Then, for Habasi, the unexpected happened. The figure gave a start, as though he had suddenly realized something dire, and fell to his knees, grabbing at the grated ground. However, the flaming ball of pitch at the end of the torch was small enough to fall through the small holes on deck. Habasi, in her weary state of mind, tried to think of why the figure would be so nervous, the only thing she could think of down there was the felshine vat.

Then her ears picked up the small sound of something being ignited. But what started as a very small noise quickly grew. It sounded as though a fire were quickly spreading, faster the she had ever heard before. The figure stood, taking a step back in near panic. As he looked through the grating, his robes were illuminated by a red glow. In a heartbeat, Habasi could hear the sounds of hissing pipes and popping metal, exponentially growing louder and louder. She looked at the figure, who was focused at her. She could feel hatred seeping from him, and he sprinted towards her.

As she steeled herself for the end, a massive, deafening blast was heard below decks. Suddenly, a huge plume of flame incinerated the wood below the figure's feet. He was caught totally in the fire, and all of his features obscured by conflagration. She could make out something, though, as his robes burned away. He looked both oddly familiar, like an elder from her homeland, and yet at the same time extremely foreign and alien, like nothing she had seen before. But before she could get a better look, he was gone, reduced to ash.

A surge of adrenaline kicked in, and the thief put her arm around Christophe, who was now completely unconscious. She dragged him as best she could towards the side of the boat, to the accompaniment of dozens of new smaller explosions. The metal tubes at the side of the ship in particular burst with surprising force. Right as she got to the edge, something rumbled below her feet. She felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and the next she knew she was being propelled skyward, the last of the ghost ship exploding underneath her feet.

Her body flew through the air, but next to her was Christophe. She grabbed out to him and held him tight, determined to keep herself near him now, no matter the cost. And in the air, something happened in those few seconds. She felt herself pressed close to him. She felt the warmth of his body again, the sound of a single breath. In that brief fleeting moment, she felt like her heart had been thrown into a vice, and she gasped.

And then she crashed into the icy cold water. She shock rattled her senses as she floundered in vain. Soon, her body physically spent, she could no longer even struggle and the world went dark…

* * *

Even in the midst of battle, the word spread through the Dunmer ranks like wildfire. Hortator Berel Sala had fallen back, due to either strategic necessity or cowardice. The leader of the United Morrowind Army, the man who had welded the five feuding houses together, the man who saved so many cities during the Oblivion Crisis, _that_ man had abandoned the situation. The army had lost its general.

The Hlaalu were the first to break off their assault. When the news reached them, the House retainers knew what was to be done and called off their lightly armed soldiers immediately, who broke and scattered into the surrounding hills. The Telivanni, sensing the new change in direction, kept their mightiest Mage Lords in reserve and also fell back, cursing the loss of their phenomenally expensive silt striders.

From his vantage point, Lex could hardly believe his eyes. Slowly, yet surely, the Dunmer lines were cracking. The Dres, uncomfortable with regimented fighting such as this, were flying off the battlefield at a semi-regular base, both due to the plummeting morale and their own casualties. The Redoran, too, after putting up a valiant effort, were weakened and exhausted. Their reserves gone, the soldiers fell back in small, broken groups.

Only the ordinators of Great House Indoril refused to flee, fighting to the last. This effort was vain. Despite their elite training and equipment, they had already lost too much of their originally small number. Encircled, and assaulted by some of the finest Imperial Battlemages, the soldiers were circumscribed and annihilated. The glorious individual valor and effort, the inspiring display of courage against impossible odds, meant nothing next to the methodical nature of the Imperial Legion. The last of the most loyal Redoran fell back, many being pursued and picked off by the more lightly equipped legion soldiers. In less than two hours since the fall of the first silt strider, the army had been routed. The undefeatable guardians of Mournholde were broken.

The field slowly grew quiet as a calm known only to those who have survived a battle can know. Save the faint whispering of the wind, Lex could hear nothing. The vista he looked over gradually lost its chaos, if not its desolace. The Battle of Cormaris Lake was over. For Lex, the Battle of Cormaris Lake was won.


	28. Aftermath

Poised atop a miserable old mule and under a shower of cold rain that had returned to the blasted fields, Hieronymus Lex surveyed his triumph. The toll of magica warfare had certainly left its' mark. Fire shot indiscriminately by both the battlemages and the Telvanni archmages had deeply scarred the land, making it twisted and warped. The ground was red in several places still, and much of the grass was scorched away. It was almost like the area around the Oblivion Gates of the year prior. Around him walked the legionaries, with even the Nords looking somewhat grim as they gathered the numerous bodies that littered the area, somberly carrying them off to the mass gravesite.

Victory.

The imperator felt his jaw open slightly despite himself. The devastation was atrocious. The sheer scale of bodies alone could still nearly make him retch, and the knowledge that his actions are what led him here, that _he _was the one to do this… He had thrown people in cells before, sometimes condemning them to life there. But they were _criminals. _They had deserved it. But these honest, imperial citizens? They certainly didn't. And did the Dunmer? Perhaps Sala and Hler, but what about the masses who were following their gods…?

Was _this _what victory felt like? Was this the feeling that Septim had, when he gazed upon the broken ships of Hunding Bay, his empire complete? Was this the feeling that Othrok had, as he sunk the fleets of the Usurper two hundred years ago? Was this the feeling of the Akaviri as Ionith was sacked and an emperor died? It couldn't be. It had to feel better than this. Because this…

Lex couldn't even tell if he felt any sort of jubilation. He had won, true. The battle was over, yes. But this was hardly the sort of victory he imagined. He actually hadn't really imagined what victory would be like prior to this. But surely, it couldn't've been what he was feeling now. Slowly, like an unwanted dream, another thought crossed his mind—a fat, oily face. This battle was Civello's will. Did Civello know that this was to be the outcome of his ambition? Did Civello even feel unsettled at this loss of life?

A scene flashed in Lex's mind of a Nordic caravan in Dres territory. Sigrdríf's mother was there, a twisted corpse like so many others here. Was Civello responsible for that, too? Did Civello even regret it?

The Imperial felt slightly dizzy as a surge of emotion flooded his head. As the mule trotted, though, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. A group of soldiers were crowded around something, eagerly picking at it. Lex hopped off the mule and strode over towards them with as much authority as he could muster. He soon caught glimpse of what they were up to. Five soldiers from Darius' legion were snatching the beautiful Indoril armor off a dead ordinator like a flock of vultures, their voices like caws as they were busy stripping him bare. Lex felt his fist clench. "What are you _doing?" _he yelled, obviously angry.

A senior-looking solider stood up from his squat, holding a valuable pauldron in his hands. He shot a dirty look towards Lex. "What do you—Oh," he cut himself off, realizing to whom he was speaking, "Imperator. This is a surprise," he said with a salute.

Lex shook his head in disbelief. "What are you doing to that man," he said, pointing at the Dunmer.

The soldier fidgeted uncomfortably. His companions had stopped their looting, and were now looking at Lex themselves, all of who kept their gaze fixed at the ground. The leader of the group started to speak. "We… We were stripping some of the Dark Elf of their armor. This will fetch a good price, you know."

"You can't do that," Lex said, "These bodies deserve to be respected, not… pilfered."

The leader of the group took a moment to choose his words. "These… Were the enemy."

"That's not the point," Lex said with the exasperation of trying to explain a simple concept to someone who simply can't grasp it, "They were still _people._ Their deaths still deserve some gravity."

"If I may, sir," the soldier replied, "General Sigrdríf allows the VIIth to claim prizes from the fallen, and… Sir, I've got three daughters back in Cyrodiil. I need to pay for their dowries somehow."

Lex shook his head. "No. Absolutely not. You will all receive standard bonuses for valor in combat, to be sure, but I cannot condone this grisly practice. Put the armor back on that man, on the double."

The leader moved to protest, "But I…" He closed his mouth and nodded once. "Understood sir. Alright, c'mon, boys. Let's get this redeye clothed and buried," he said, clearly defeated by the tone of his voice.

Lex nodded, turned, and returned to his mule. How could people do this, he wondered. How could people pick the armor off these dead men, like peeling chitin from a bug? As Lex's mule rounded the massive corpse of a silt strider, the approach made a murder of crows fly off from it. Lex glanced at the sky, trying to protect his eyes from the rain falling from the ash gray sky. There were already so many crows.

As Lex gazed back at the aftermath, his vision quickly gave a jump, as though he had seen something familiar out of the corner of his eye for just a moment. With more energy he surveyed the surrounding area, which seemed just like the rest of the battlefield—damaged by magica and sprinkled with corpses. But suddenly Lex realized something as his body gave a horrible shudder. There, in a nearby ditch, lay Guilliam.

Lex once again got off the mule, but nearly collapsed this time. He lurched forward as he moved towards the boy, his head light and his heart pounding. As he got closer there was a buzzing sound in his ears, and he felt his cheeks turn red as all the blood in his body surged into his head. There was Guilliam, crumpled into a ball. The young Breton's face still had the expression of sudden shock—his cloudy eyes were still wide, and his mouth still open. Lex fell to his knees in front of his young companion. "No," he croaked, "Oh, no, no, no…"

With a trembling hand he reached out and touched Guilliam. The boy was cold and unresponsive. Lex broke into a sob and grabbed his friend. He drew the boy's head into his chest and gaze a wavering cry. "No," he repeated again, as though the word could somehow bring life back into him, "Please, by the divines, no!"

He didn't know how long he was collapsed there, his hand desperately running through Guilliam's hair. How long his body shook with grief, and how long he wept there. In time, though, Lex heaved his body upright. It was the most difficult act of standing he had ever done in his life. He felt as though he were made of lead. But, with a haunted and fatalistic gaze, Imperator Lex picked up the dead body of Guillaim into his arms, and carried him towards the mule. When he arrived, there was already an officer standing at attention, who had obviously been watching Lex as he mourned. The man saluted. "Sir," reported.

Lex handed the man the body of his cherished companion. "… Bring him back to the camp," he said without a trace of emotion, "And clean him up. I intend to give him a special burial."

The officer nodded. "By your command," he said, turned, and carried out his orders.

Lex climbed back on top of the mule slowly, laboriously. He didn't feel disgust at the battlefield anymore. He couldn't feel anything for the life of him. He spurred the mule on and kept looking over the scene. His red, bloodshot eyes looked at all the other men sprawled in the region, all these dead young men. He wanted to feel outraged again, he wanted to feel a suitably strong emotion for what he should be going through, but he just couldn't do it anymore.

About an hour later, as he was turning around to go back to camp, he had another moment where he noticed something oddly familiar. His sorrowful heart skipped a beat, and his mind was gripped by the icy thought of Kirania, her eyes dead like Guilliam's. His head snapped back to glance where he spotted her with such speed that it stung, but it wasn't in vain. He saw Kirania, too.

She was curled into a ball, but suddenly a flash of hope shot into Lex like a healing spell. She was still moving. He sprung from the mule and staggered over to the Bosmer. "G-Guardswoman!" he cried out, "Kirania!"

As he neared, she looked up. The expression on her face was one of absolute horror and despair, and when she laid eyes on the Imperator, she hiccupped once. "H-Hieronymus…?" she quavered, as though she were unwilling to believe her own eyes.

Lex closed the distance between them, only to be taken aback as she sprung off the ground towards him. He took a sudden breath in as she embraced him and started sobbing into his chest like a little girl, in the same place he had cradled Guilliam not one hour ago. "Oh, Hieronymus!" she cried, "It was horrid! So, so, horrid! The riders came from behind, there was no one to protect us, they sliced through us like, like…!"

She broke into unintelligible tears. Lex sighed deeply and stroked her hair. "There there," he whispered to her sympathetically, "It's over now. The battle's over, Kirania, we've won."

Kirania was unmoved, "They _murdered _us," she wailed, "Like we were animals, they just…! I've had fights before, but never so many at once, and the sound of their wings, all together was—Oh…!" she sobbed again.

As Lex kept trying to console her, he noticed something. There was blood on her armor, and he hadn't the vaguest idea where it had come from. He pushed her away from his body and looked her in the eyes. "Listen to me," he said, now in a tone more accustomed to, "I need you to get a hold of yourself. You're safe here. Can you do this for me?"

The Bosmer wiped at her eyes and nose, trying to nod. "I-I'll try, captain."

He nodded seriously. "Are you wounded at all?"

Kirania thought for a moment, then tried to respond. "The rider, he came at me so fast that I…" she broke off, starting to fall back into tears.

"Get a hold of yourself," Lex insisted, "Are you wounded? Do you need tending to?"

Kirania tried to respond, but could only cry as she slunk to the ground. Lex grasped at his head in frustration. Looking behind himself, he noticed that the same officer who had carried Guilliam away had returned, and was watching the two of them expectantly. The Imperial gestured for the man, who swiftly approached the two. "Orders, sir?" he inquired.

Lex nodded, "Get this girl back to camp, and see to it that any wounds she has suffered are treated to. I want her to get the best care possible, of my own personal quality, understood?"

"Right you are, sir," the officer said with a smart salute. "Come on, missy, back to camp with you."

He gestured for her to follow him, but Kirania made no effort to stand up. The officer gave a thoughtful nod, and proceeded to pick the Bosmer's small frame off the ground and fling her over his shoulder. She was still crying, but didn't seem to provide much resistance. Lex watched the two leave, sighed again, and sat on a small rock. He put his head in his hands and didn't move for about ten minutes.

When that time had passed, Lex returned to the mule and started to trek back to camp. As he returned to the majority of the forces, he picked out a familiar face in the crowd of soldiers. Standing over two complete sets of Indoril armor and looking rather proud of himself was the ringleader of the carrion picker five. The soldier glanced over at the Imperator, and made eye contact. His expression swiftly changed from self-satisfied confidence to embarrassed culpability, his eyes widening in fear. Lex could only look at him in disgust and disappointment, but he didn't get off his mount to go and chastise the man himself

He just couldn't do it anymore.

* * *

Habasi opened her eyes. This surprised her. She thought she would be dead. She groggily looked about her surroundings. She was in a cheerful, well-lit room, lying in a soft, comfortable bed. Standing nearby, looking over a scroll while eating an apple, was a young Bosmer, who noticed Habasi's return to consciousness and gave with a big smile. "Gods' blood, you're awake!" she said, putting down her things, "That's incredible!"

The Khajiit scowled. "W-Where is Habasi?" she managed.

"You're in the guild hall, of course. Of course, you wouldn't know it, seeing as you avoid most of us like the plague," the Bosmer replied with a quick laugh. "I'm Carwen, by the way, in case you don't remember me."

Habasi attempted to stand up, but was assaulted by so much pain from so many points she fell back into her bed, giving a short yowl. Carwen flinched. "Don't try that again," she said, "You're lucky to be alive. You broke bones I never even heard of, and your ankle—ugh, that was a bloody mess. Something called a 'compound fracture' in healer speak. The priest re-set it, but you're very lucky. Had it been much longer, he said he would've needed to amputate it."

The Khajiit felt her face wince up in pain. "Where is Christophe?" she asked.

"The doyen?" said Carwen, "He's around here somewhere, I'd imagine. His wounds weren't nearly as bad as yours. I think he's meeting with the boss right now, or something. I'd wager that he'll want to speak with you, but for now, I'd just focus on getting some rest. It'd be a horribly ironic for you to live through whatever the devil you went through, only to be done in by restlessness."

"Habasi does not wish to be here. She wants to leave."

'That's just a crying shame then," Carwen playfully replied, "Because you're not going anywhere. You're getting our thorough, complementary treatment, whether you want to or not. Now I'll be back in a little while to change your bandages, okay? Until then, I want you to just lie down here and get better. I don't know what you did out there… But I think everyone in the guild owes you a big debt of appreciation."

Habasi rolled over to look at the wall. Carwen shrugged. "Fine, be all moody and grumpy. I don't really care that much. Just get better," she said, walking towards the door. Habasi heard it close.

The room was very peaceful, she gave the guild that much. The only sounds she heard were the raking of tree branches on a nearby window, and the soft chirping of a bird outside. She lay in silence, feeling the dull pain from all over her body radiate into herself. It wasn't very pleasant. "Once again," she whispered to herself, "She has survived another battle…"

She had been in this position before, bruised and battered. In Morrowind, certainly. Between kagouti, netch hounds, and the occasional wild guar her body had been broken and reshapen more than once. Of course, magic could only do so much. Every morning she got out of her bed with more aches than she had before; she could feel her joints becoming ever more stiff with every passing day. It made her work harder and harder to do.

And then a thought occurred to her. This was no longer a problem, she realized. The felshine had gone up in flames. The distributor was reduced to ash. She had filled her end of the bargain, and Christophe was going to have to do good on his end. It was over. She could finally end her career. She closed her eyes and gave a long relieved sigh. Now she could finally rest. She was too old for these sorts of things, after all. At long last she could put all these plots and shady business behind her. The effect was quite liberating. A new surge of relief ameliorated the pain that was wracking her body. It was finally over. As the birds chirped, Habasi, for the first time in ages, felt free.

* * *

Afternoons were quiet along the Green Emperor Way, deep in the center of the Imperial City. It was no longer vogue to spend an afternoon there in silent thought, idling among the crumbling monuments to great men, or to gaze silently at a blooming flower. Only the very old or the foolishly romantic tended to spend any length of time in the area, and that solitude is what drew the Lady Flyte there so often.

Strolling listlessly, she lazily spun her beautiful new sky-blue parasol while her heavy eyes looked upon now illegible tombstones. Her new guards were several paces ahead and behind of her—if she couldn't shake them, she at least demanded some room. Slowing her pace even more she came across an old, gnarled tree, with an aging stone-hewn bench under it. She gave a melancholy sigh as she stopped in front of the old tree, and slowly sat down.

She folded her parasol and looked about her. The tree had been shedding its leaves, which seemed to carpet the uncared for bench in a sheet of brown and orange. She delicately took one of the small leaves up between her small gloved fingers. Lady Flyte looked at it for a few moments before tossing it aside. Her eyes didn't leave the little leaf as it twirled to the ground and lay there, unmoving. She sighed again.

Lady Flyte slowly reached to her neck and grabbed the piece of jewelry she wore there. She took off her small necklace and cupped it in her hand. The smoldering autumn sun illumined it far better than the meager light of that old store she had stayed in not too long ago. She could see the face of the young woman etched carefully into the stone. It flawlessly captured what the woman must've looked like in person, from the long, twirling hair, to the alive, expressive eyes that nearly matched the Lady Flyte's. The Breton could produce a near perfect mental image of the woman on her necklace. Her sister. Nanette.

Lady Flyte clenched her fist and closed her eyes. The great mental dam that kept the torrents of old memories was cracking, and she desperately was trying to keep them held back. She bit her bottom lip as she felt tears well up in her eyes, despite her best efforts. She was interrupted, though, by the sound of a cough. Lady Flyte was suddenly jerked from her own world back into the real one. Trying desperately to bat the tears from her eyes she looked up, only to see a different young woman standing before her, though about her same age. "If you please," the stranger said, "You're taking up my bench."

There was a second where Lady Flyte said nothing, but after she processed what had happened, she gave an uncharacteristic jerk. "Oh, excuse me," she said, sliding over to one side of the seat.

"Thank you," the newcomer said, sitting down, "I enjoy spending my breaks here."

The woman was an Imperial with a head of messy brown hair and was clad in some very common clothes, which Lady Flyte found nearly raglike due to an apparent history of frequent sewings and repairs. Her face had a calm yet slightly serious expression on it, and for some curious reason she kept her eyes closed. She gracefully opened a small pouch at her waist and took out a very meager portion of bread which she took a bite of. "My name," she began after about a minute of silence, "Is Julia."

The lady's eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. "Julia?" she inquired, "As in Julia Rufus?"

The Imperial's face flashed with surprise, although she didn't open her eyes. "… Yes, that is my last name. Any reason you would know that?"

Lady Flyte mentally cursed herself. She was so emotionally unbalanced that she let herself be totally off-guard, and to talk without even weighing her words. "I've heard about your sewing," she said, trying to recover.

"I'm sure you have," replied Julia sardonically, "I _am _the worst seamstress in the capitol, after all."

The lady gave a quick, nervous laugh. "Yes, well, let us try this again. I am La—" but then the Breton cut herself off with a thoughtful look. A split-second later she continued, "… Lynette. My name is Lynette."

Julia's eyebrows moved, as though she had realized something. "Odd name," she replied, turning her head back forward, "From Daggerfall?"

Lynette grimaced slightly, "… Yes."

"You a refugee, or something?" Julia ventured, "I hear that the fighting is pretty bloody with the High Elves out there."

"Not really."

"Ah," said Julia, eating another chunk of bread.

A few nonpleasurable moments passed. Lynette brought her gloved thumb to her lips, at though she wanted to bite it. After a minute went by, her companion broke the silence that seemed to have taken over the conversation. "Nice weather for being so close to winter, huh?"

"Pardon?" Lynette responded, looking towards the Imperial.

"I said the weather was nice," Julia pointed out, "That's what you're supposed to do when you're in an unpleasant conversation, right? Talk about the weather?"

Lynette felt herself start to blush, "U-Unpleasant?"

"Well, we're sitting here talking about nothing, right?" responded Julia, "I'd categorize that as unpleasant."

"I…" Lynette muttered, "I don't believe anyone has found my company to be unpleasant."

"That's because you're a noble lady," Julia said, eating another piece of bread, "No one would ever say that to your face."

Lynette felt herself becoming even more flushed. "Noble? How did you…?"

"That's easy. Have you listened to yourself talk? The way you annunciate words and pick your diction out carefully—your rank is more obvious to me by my ears than I think most people would realize by their eyes, and I would wager even that wouldn't be hard," the Imperial said with a wave of her hand, "With you likely in a fancy dress and covered in gaudy jewelry."

The Breton was torn between her surprise and her indignation. "H-How dare you talk to me this way!" she said, almost snapping.

Julia turned her head towards the lady. Her face was now less mocking, and more serious. "See, look how defensive you are about this. Have you spent your entire life totally surrounded by yes-men? Because it sounds to me that you've never had someone be flat-out honest to you."

"I've had several people be honest to me!" the lady countered.

"Like who? Your parents and who else?"

The lady opened her mouth, but Lynette realized before she could talk that she could never really peg a moment that her parents were honest to her. As she mentally ran through some promising moments, Julia shook her head. "I take that silence as a no?"

Lynette bit at her nail. "I…"

"Listen," Julia said, standing up, "If you live the life you're on, all you're going to find are petty, shallow men, and spiteful, nasty women. That's what the upper crust is. Normally, I wouldn't care, but Maro seems to be rather fond of you, and I dislike seeing him so distracted over anything."

Lynette put her hand to her chest in surprise. "How…?"

"You gave me more than enough pieces to the puzzle, Lady Flyte," replied Julia. "And that's why I think you should go apologize to my brother. Don't give him any… Ideas, of course, but don't just leave him wallowing. If you do, you're just a horrible person."

The Lady Flyte stood up. "Now see here, you can't just show up out of the blue, insult me, and then tell me what to do!"

Julia turned around and started to walk away. "That's funny," she called out, "Because I just did that anyway."

Lady Flyte continued to scowl as she watched Julia walk off. How could that peasant talk that way to _her_? The _arrogance! _She had half a mind to tell her guards to apprehend the woman so she could give her a piece of her mind, but eventually decided against it. She was the better person. She sat back down with a bit of a huff and gave a vengeful stare outwards. After a few minutes, her anger had simmered back into a mere frustration, and eventually back into the melancholia that she had started with.

Her question wasn't whether or not people had been honest with her throughout her life. She always knew that they hadn't been. But for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why she suddenly _cared_.

* * *

Swamp nights were normally peaceful and quiet. This wasn't a normal swamp night, however, reflected Erasmus Servius. He glanced at the horizon, which was glowing red. The origin of that was the great trading city of Narsis. It was a Hlaalu city, true, but then again the Hlaalu need reminding who held the real power in Tamriel. That's why Servius burned it. It was a pity that he had to reduce it to ash, but that's war for you.

At his side, an Argonian bodyguard was tapping his foot impatiently. Servius casually shot him a glance. "Something wrong?"

"If I may, sir," the lizardfolk growled, "I don't like this. This is probably a trap. Do you have any idea how many enemies you've made in Narsis now? They'll probably try to kill you."

Servius put a hand to his chin. "Probably," he admitted, "But if the contact does indeed wish to put an end to me, I'm afraid he'll find me a little… hard to kill."

There was some rustling from a bush nearby, which caused the Argonian to turn viciously towards the intrusion. The soldiers heard a frightened whelp, which caused Servius to sigh in irritation. He glanced at the Argonian. "Peace," he said, turning his attentions towards the bush, "And you come out, where I can see you."

Crawling out of the foliage was an old Dumner man, with deeply-set wrinkles and eyes whose red color was starting to fade away. He struggled to his feet, not daring to look the general in the eyes. "P-Please, muthsera," he stuttered, "I have what you were looking for," he said, reaching into a small pack he had with him.

The Argonian growled again, but Servius put up his hand, narrowing his iron-gray eye. After a second the Dumner retrieved a small, unassuming journal, but handled it with extreme caution. Servius strode out and grabbed the journal from the elderly elf, causing the later to flinch slightly. The general looked the book over. It didn't seem old exactly, but it did seem as though it had gone through a whole lot of wear. The cover was covered with filth and seemed as though it was about to fall apart. He gingerly opened the tome. Every page was worn with many of them burned, water stained, even some of them missing. The Argonian was underwhelmed. "Look at this thing!" he scoffed, "Do you really expect this to be _the _journal? It's garbage!"

Servius, however, was deadly serious. "The fact that it is garbage lends it credibility," he noted, "Now be silent!"

As he continued to read his face, which began dark and pensive, slowly grew happier, if not lighter. Eventually a faint smile crossed his lips. He shut the cover of the journal. "Yes, this will do," he told the Dunmer, "Here is your reward."

He stepped forward and dropped a small coin purse in the elderly man's hands. The Dunmer opened the pouch and started counting cautiously, but stopped halfway through. "T-Thank you, general!" he said, "Thank you a hundred times over!"

Servius nodded and turned. The Argonian growled and followed suit. The two began to walk towards the XIIth's encampment, and the Argonian was less than pleased. "Do you really believe such a nasty little book was worth so much gold?" he asked, obviously unhappy about the whole exchange.

"I certainly hope so," replied Servius, "Even if it's just a recreation, if the true exploits match up to what I believe actually happened, that gold is an investment that will pay for itself a thousand times over."

They didn't speak more until they reached camp. Servius glanced at the Argonian. "There is a change of plans," he stated simply, "We're not going to advance to Mournholde."

The Argonian tilted his head in surprise. "Sir? But then Lex—"

"Lex is nothing," Servius scoffed, "News came in from the capital. Civello is dead, and so are Lex's hopes. Let him have Mournehold; I really don't care. We're following a new strategy. The legion is going to march north, to Vaardenfel. We'll split into two groups there. The first will sack Vivec, to give the impression that we went to go capture a major city. It will deflect any suspicion, I believe."

"As for the second half?"

"The second half?" Servius asked, with a deathly amused smirk on his face, "That group has a different destination in mind. I'm going to lead them to the Red Mountain. I'm going to lead them to Dagoth Ur."

* * *

Lex sat at his desk, alone. The heavy-hearted task of burying the dead was finished, and most of the soldiers had gone from emotionless to jubilant. He could hear Imperial and Nord alike singing and carousing outside; he could hear the sounds of horns being blown and happy men toasting each other in honor of their heroic victory.

Lex too had a bottle. He wasn't quite exuberant though.

The Imperial had entered his tent soon after winning, and hadn't exited since. He didn't know exactly how he felt anymore. He hadn't really prepared for this (part of him never assumed that he would win in the first place) and while he figured that he should be happy that the only major obstacle between him and Mournholde had been brushed away, he couldn't bring himself to be joyful, or to have any emotion for that matter. Any sort of emotion he had was burned away from the events of the day, leaving him feeling empty.

As the night grew on, Lex continued to do nothing but sit and stare at the far end of his tent until he heard someone stop at the entrance to his quarters. He lazily rolled his eyes to see who it was. A familiar voice nearly whispered, "Permission to enter, sir."

"Granted," Lex replied.

Kirania slowly walked into the room. She still looked fazed by the day's events—she had apparently tried to clean herself up, but her eyes were extremely tired, and her stride had lost any sort of youthful quality it had. "I…" she began, "I wish to once again apologize for my actions. They were unprofessional."

Lex shook his head in disbelief. "Do you really believe that I'm going to hold that against you?"

Kirania shook her head. "Not really…" she said, and then tried to look a little more resolute. "Where is Guilliam, by the way? I thought he'd be with you… but he…"

She didn't need a verbal response. Lex's dead eyes told her everything she needed to know. Kirania put up her hands to her mouth in surprise and shook slightly. She sat in a nearby chair and started to cry softly. For an hour, that was all that happened. They sat in silence, but it was a special sort of silence. It wasn't an awkward silence, or a silence where two people understand each other. It was one of life's necessary silences, where both participants don't wish to have company, but need it regardless. Neither felt comfortable in that room together, but they needed to know that there was someone else in the world, even if that other person was completely mute. Life offers few of these moments, none of them enjoyable, all of them intense.

Eventually Lex took another small glass and poured Kirania some sort of drink. The Bosmer had settled down to some extent, although she was still obviously crestfallen. She looked at the glass for a moment. "I never thought you'd be one for drinking," she said, picking it up.

"I'm not," replied Lex.

She took the glass and downed the contents in a single gulp. Lex gave a half smile, one that was amused possibly because he needed some sort of distraction. "Apparently, though, you're one for it."

"I'm not some dainty little girl," Kirania said, filling her glass again.

Lex gave another weary smile. "I never assumed you were."

Kirania downed the drink again with great gasp afterwards. She wiped away a tear that Lex wasn't certain that came from the emotional ordeal or the alcohol. She shook her head once and looked up at her superior. "How long did you know him?" she asked.

With a dreary sigh, Lex leaned back into his seat. "I met Guilliam three years ago. I had just made captain, and it was an exciting time. Nearly electric, I suppose you could say. Phillida was very interested in my leads about Christophe, everyone took me seriously… I was eager, and I suppose somehow still naïve. One day I was inspecting the Waterfront when I met a middle aged couple. The two had lived there for years in the abject poverty, but… They were different from the normal ruffians you meet there. They were honest. The two told me about their young son who had just entered the guard, entirely without connections. They wanted him to have a better life than they did, and they implored me to take him under my wing, to teach and mentor him as best I could…"

"And you accepted?" said Kirania.

"How could I not?" replied Lex, "They were good people. Guilliam… He was always very excited about serving under me. I think he was the only person who never doubted that the Thieves' Guild existed. The poor child was nearly heartbroken when he heard I was going to be transferred to Anvil… By the time I was recalled I was so happy to see him again, and to show him what truly makes a captain… And now look what happened… To think, that old couple being told that their only son…" Lex trailed off, gazing out.

Kirania looked at the ground and spent a moment selecting her words. "You… You don't blame yourself for what happened, do you?"

"No," Lex instantly replied, "The blame here rests solely on the hands of the Dunmer. This is their fault. And now I know more than ever that they must be pacified. If not, they'll continue to kill. It's funny, how I always read of wars and the like in the Courier and books, but I never really understood what it was like at all. This is horrible. Too horrible to continue. I need to stop this from happening, no matter the costs."

"You really want to keep on leading this army?" asked Kirania.

"My wishes are irrelevant," Lex responded, his voice steady but decisive, "It is my duty."

Kirania didn't respond. After he spoke of his duty, Lex could tell that she was now thinking about something, thinking deeply. She kept staring at the ground, as though she was trying to work up the courage to make a very difficult decision. She opened her mouth and was about to say something, in a way that was reluctant, but still determined. Before she could speak, though, the entrance to Lex's tent was thrown open, and a tall, laughing woman barged in. "Hieronymus Lex!" she cried out with mirth, "You son of a bitch!"

Sigrdríf Battle-Singer seemed to have recovered her strength. She was still in pain, which was evident from a small flinch in her step, but that didn't seem to affect her. Her left eye hadn't seemed to have healed, and she now wore an eyepatch. For a moment, Lex thought she nearly reminded him of Servius, but Servius was normally not celebratory nor very drunk. "I can't believe you did it!" she said with another laugh, her rather unrestrained voice causing a batch of papers to fly of Lex's desk and shake the walls of his tent, "I mean, I always told you we could win, but I half expected—no, three-fourths expected for us to be massacred today! But look at what we have! Victory!"

Both Lex and Kirania were taken aback. Sigrdríf sat down in the last vacated seat near the two and grabbed the bottle of Lex's desk, pouring herself a drink. "I've really got to hand it to you, imperator," she said, "You've truly shattered my expectations. To victory, eh?" she said, offering him a toast.

Lex blinked once, "I suppose we did win, didn't we?" he said, as though he were just becoming aware of the fact.

Sigrdríf nodded, then downed her drink. "But this is no time to rest on our laurels," she said, sounding slightly more serious, "As we've got to use this momentum. I've sent out scouts to find and capture Sala and Hler. Tomorrow morning I think we'll deliver a funeral oration to our dear General Darius, and then we'll march immediately. We need to reach Almalexia before Servius does, after all."

Lex nodded, although he seemed distracted. "I figured as much."

The Nord gave another laugh. "Good! We'll start packing immediately, then! No rest for the weary or wicked! And for gods' sake, lighten up," she said, tossing her hair, "We just won a victory that'll be in the history books! No one will want to read how the great Imperator Lex brooded all night."

The imperator was unamused. "Dismissed, general."

"Sir," she replied with another laugh and left the tent.

Only Kirania remained, and after a moment she stood up, too. "I think I'm going to see if I can't get any sleep," she said, looking at the ground, "Hopefully I'll get a little…"

Lex nodded. The Bosmer walked to the exit, but before she left looked back towards him. "I really am sorry for this, sir," she said, almost insistently, "I really mean it, you know."

"I understand," replied Lex, "And I thank you for your support."

Kirania gave a forced smile, said "Goodnight," and vanished outside.

Lex was alone now. He didn't leave that chair during the entire night, and not even he could really remember what happened after Kirania had left. The next morning, though, he awoke in his seat to the sound of porters packing his things, and felt the sensation one has when they realize that the events of the previous day were not dreams but were, in fact, reality. He had no idea, though, if it was for better or for worse.


	29. The Sound of the Gallows

The Plaza Brindisi Dorom had changed. Originally the heart of Mournhold, it was famous for its painstakingly carved statues that commemorated the fight between Almalexia and Mehrunes Dagon in the First Era. Yet those celebrated statues were gone now, torn down by Imperial hands. But the Imperials did not just destroy the statues here; they also had created something themselves.

Standing now in the center of the plaza was a massive scaffold, made hastily out of hundreds of wooden planks, resembling somewhat the skeleton of a whale. It was built so that the top platform was clearly visible to anyone in the plaza, giving it a commanding presence over the area. Standing atop it was General Sigrdríf, with her arms crossed and a dark, satisfied smile on her lips. Near her were gallows with two nooses ready, swaying slightly as though the rope itself was trembling with anticipation.

The plaza was extremely crowded with Dunmer. They came from all walks of life. There were temple councilors standing alongside merchants, House lawmen alongside threadbare beggars, grizzled elders alongside young radicals. The only thing they had in common was their gaze, all looking at the Battle-Singer with silent eyes. Standing alongside the perimeter wall was a row of legionaries, all carrying spears that were subtly pointed towards the crowd, making it seem as though the Dunmer were within a ring of blades. The only exception to this arrangement was a cleared path leading from the Great Gates that opened into Almalexia proper to the gallows that stood in the center of the plaza.

The sky was gray, as though it was in mourning, and the temperature hovered just above freezing. The crowd remained silent for some time, but there was definitely a great tension in plaza. Some of the soldiers shifted uncomfortably and gripped their spears tighter. Sigrdríf remained calm as she used her remaining eye to glance at the gates, tapping her foot slowly and licking her lips once. The crowd's gaze fell on her with an almost physical force, but the general did not falter.

At last, the gates were slowly, laboriously drawn open. Every eye in the plaza turned to look. Entering the area was a small, broken down cart, pulled by a couple of sorry mules, creaking its way down the cleared path towards the scaffold. In the back of the cart were clearly visible two beaten, weary Dunmer, one young, one old, looking at the bottom of the cart somberly. It moved so slowly that it seemed as though an hour had passed as the rickety cart groaned its way to the gallows, seeming like it could break at any second. As soon as the mules reached the scaffold, a couple of Imperial guards sauntered over and threw the Dunmer out of the cart and onto the ground. The crowd stirred, but the sound of the soldiers surrounding them forced them to back down.

The two mer managed to bring themselves to their feet. They were emaciated and battered, and looked as though they might collapse at any second. But their eyes still shone with intensity, not with defeat. Indeed, perhaps it was sheer pride that allowed them to keep walking. They climbed the staircase with an undefeated yet weary dignity, and passed Sigrdríf without so much as a glance, taking their places under the two nooses. The general's smirk grew slightly, before she took out a large scroll. She unrolled it and spoke, the words blaring over the silent plaza. "By order of Imperator Hieronymus Lex," she began, "These two individuals, Fedris Hler and Berel Sala have been both accused and found guilty of high treason against the Cyrodiilic Empire. The appropriate punishment is death."

She rolled the scroll back up. Two guards helped to fit the necks of the Dunmer into the nooses, and there was no physical resistance. Sigrdríf strode over to inspect the knots. She approached Hler first, and gave the rope a sharp tug. The noose cut into Hler's neck, but the mer didn't flinch. She made eye contact with him. She noted that they both only had one eye—it was as though they had something in common. She smirked, but Hler simply scowled. There was unbroken defiance in him, the sort of stuff Ordinators are made of. "It's not too late to bend the knee," Sigrdríf said in a near whisper, "You don't need to die."

"Witch," spat Hler.

Sigrdríf shrugged, turned and walked to Sala. While Hler was grizzled and old, Sala was younger, although it was harder now to say that he was still 'young'. She had always assumed that Sala, so full of his youthful zeal, would have a fresh, vibrant face, fueled by the occultist temple-magics. And yet she could notice lines and wrinkles starting to make their mark on the man's face, as though the weight of command had finally started to leave its' mark. She looked Sala up and down once. Even in prisoner's rags, he still had authority. "And you, Sala?" she asked, almost taunting, "Do you intend to repeat the mistakes that killed your house four centuries ago? Just submit, and you can be spared."

Sala said nothing. Sigrdríf shook her head once and then walked away from them. Near one corner of the platform, there was a wooden switch sticking up from the ground. She reached out and grabbed it. She looked over the crowd, noting that once again every eye in Mournhold was on her. She tossed a glance behind her and noted that the Dunmer kept resolute. Sala, in fact, began silently moving his lips in prayer. Sigrdríf felt a slight tingle in her chest, an unexpected feeling, not one of excitement, but almost as though she were anxious. She quickly brushed such thoughts aside, focused her mind and pulled back the switch.

The dead silence of the plaza was violently severed. There was the sound of collapsing wood as the ground under the Dunmer's feet gave way, and then a loud snapping sound as the rope holding held them aloft. Sigrdríf watched the two dangled above the ground, but that feeling of anxiousness didn't leave her. There was something uncomfortable about an execution that she hadn't expected. It wasn't even like killing someone on the battlefield. The two nobles, though trying to remain as passionless as possible, still were desperately trying to grasp of air. It went on for too long. They were already supposed to be dead from their necks breaking. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Sigrdríf felt her breath become shaky as she kept watching, although she dared not show any weakness. Eventually, Sala made a weak groaning noise and went limp. Not much later, Hler gave a single kick out into the air and went still, although his body still swung back and forth. Sigrdríf looked back over the crowd; they were still silent, still staring at her. She took a shuddering breath in, glanced towards the guards and gave them a nod before climbing off the platform. She soon reached the ground and looked towards the palace, where she was to meet Lex. She had forgotten to clear a path, perhaps assuming that it wound have formed naturally afterwards. But to her surprise, there was no clear route to the palace, with the closest entrance being behind hundreds of Dunmer, all looking at her in total, absolute silence. She stared at them for several moments. When it was clear they wouldn't move, she scowled. "Make way," she ordered.

The crowd made no response. The glares continued to bore into her like drills, each individual one slowly yet steadily breaking the icy shield that surrounded her soul. She waited for a response, but all she could hear was the creaking of the gallow's rope above her. She clenched her fist as she attempted to stare down the mass. "I repeat, _make way_," she demanded once more.

The Dunmer were as unmoving as the corpses hanging above her. She saw them all looking at her with such force—she didn't know what emotion the thousands of red eyes contained, but she did know that it was affecting her now, now far more than it ever had in the past. She had never noticed how many there were before, but it was starting to wear her, and she moved her hand slowly towards her axe. "_Make way,_" she said one more time, this time her voice betraying the slightest amount of uncertainty.

The soldiers surrounding the Dunmer took a step forward, and lowered their spears slightly. For about a minute they stood in that tension, but then the Dunmer started to move, very, very slowly. It was as though a great sea was parting, the unstoppable force of nature deigning to be controlled by mortal hands, but could still crash back down at any moment. Sigrdríf allowed herself a second to regain her composure before starting down the newly formed path. She could still feel the eyes beating into her from all sides, and she could still feel the silence of the crowd, as though it were a physical barrier standing in her way, pushing against her with every step. It was intolerable, but she didn't falter. She _couldn't _falter. Not to _them._

She reached the gates that led to the palace, opened them, and left the plaza. As soon as she was out of the sight of the great mass, she let out a great gasp, as though she had just ran a league. She braced herself on her knees for a few moments before straightening herself out. Sigrdríf rubbed the bridge of her nose as she settled down, trying to straighten out her hair with her free hand. "Kyne…" she muttered, "What is _wrong _with me?"

She took in a deep breath and reassured herself. Forcing confidence into her step, and deterring disturbing feeling to the back of her mind, she walked towards the doors to the palace, where the Imperator was waiting.

* * *

Habasi carefully crept over to the door of her room, trying to be as quiet as possible. This was exponentially harder than it normally was, given that her wounded leg still felt as though it was willing to split in two under her own weight. She flinched under the pain, but wasn't going to stop on the account of it. Steeling herself, she opened the door and looked down the hall. Carwen had left a few minutes ago, meaning Habasi had a little while to sneak out of the guildhall before she was noticed. She wasn't sure if she was actually going to succeed, but there was not harm in trying.

She slipped out of her room and prowled down the hall. At this time of night most members were out working, leaving little resistance to her escape. All she needed to do was slip outside and there would be no problem in finding some ship to stow away in. She managed to get past the hallways without incident—after all, there was nobody on watch to keep an eye out for members of the Guild trying to leave their own compound.

Habasi was now once again under the stars, and felt the cold breeze cause her fur to stand on end. Creeping as carefully as she could with her leg, she started to leave the guild hall, and glanced at a gate that led to the Waterfront proper, along with the great trade ships destined for every corner of the empire. Right as she was leaving the guild behind her, an all too familiar voice called out to her from the shadows. "Going somewhere?"

The Khajiit froze in place, feeling for a moment as though she had been plunged into icy water. After that, she slowly turned her head towards the voice. "What do _you _want?" she asked, not at all pleased.

"Take a look," said the voice. She saw a dark-skinned hand throw out a sheet to her. She snatched it from the air and started to read.

_SPECIAL EDITION!_

_HEROIC IMPERATOR LEX ERADICATES DARK ELF REBELS!_

"_Dunmer"! The very word once struck disgust into the hearts of good, honest Imperial Citizens, curious as to how an entire race could be so thoroughly duplicitous. With the current civil crisis, some pessimistic scholars once believed that the Dark Elves could actually wrench Morrowind from its rightful place as an Imperial province and send it slipping backwards into pagan barbarism._

_However, the combined legions of the empire, led by the Imperial City's own Hieronymus Lex scored a crushing victory over the armies of Morrowind. This momentum gave the legions more speed than previously planned, and the enemy's ancestral capital of Mournhold once again belongs in Imperial hands._

"_I am extremely proud of all my soldiers" stated General __Sigrdríf__ Battle-Singer, who participated in the sure-to-be-celebrated Battle of Cormaris Lake, "The redeyes had a massive army, and I'll admit that it actually was bleak for a moment. But the Imperial Legion is the best damn army on Nirn, and no dark elf can stop it."_

_Meanwhile, General Erasmus Servius and the XIIth Legion seized the city of Vivec, the second largest city in Morrowind and an important strategic location, all but sealing the rebellion's fate. Yet all battles have sacrifices. General Darius of the Deathshead Legion valiantly fell in the line of duty at the Battle of Cormaris Lake, and his nation grieves for him. Readers should keep an eye out for the incoming special edition "Portraits in Courage: The Valor of Darius", coming next Morndas._

_With these accomplishments, it seems as though Morrowind is steadily coming under control. With the recent death of King Lohtun in Sentinel, along with Admrial Ellah's defeat off the coast of Betony, it seems as though total control of the empire is inevitable. Let us hope that Imperator Lex's example shows every citizen, from farmer to noble, to strive to preserve the loyalty to the common ideals that bind us. _

_Corrections: The Black Horse Courier previously published article "'Imperator Lex' Merely Breathtaking Arrogance, or Concealed Sinister Intentions?" no longer reflects the opinions or viewpoints of the publication. _

Habasi finished reading and gave a sneer. "This means nothing to her," she said, tossing the Courier aside.

Christophe walked out of the shadows. His often mockingly lighthearted expression was gone, looking very concerned, and none too happy. "Don't lie,' he said tersely, "This is a worst case scenario, Habasi. Don't you know what this means?"

The Khajiit turned her head away from the Redguard. "It means that Morrowind will be stable again? Does it matter? Politics do not interest this one."

"Hieronymus Lex is an obstacle I suppose you don't know about," he began, "Last year, he spent every second he had hunting down the Guild. He _knew _about us, but we managed to spin him as a fool and forced him to Anvil. But he's returned, and his candidacy, which we thought died with Civello, has come back when we least expected it. Simply put, Lex has a chance to get the crown. Imagine, Habasi, what would happen if he were to seize the thrown. Think of every resource the empire has, _all _focused on finding us and tearing the Guild out by the roots. This can happen, and if Lex succeeds, this _will _happen. I hope you realize that this is unacceptable."

"For you," Habasi replied with a hint of victory to her voice, "But the huntress destroyed the source of felshine. She is free."

Christophe's face darkened, "Not quite," he said, his voice thoroughly firm.

Habasi narrowed her eyes. "Christophe cannot…" she started.

Armand Christophe closed his eyes. "Under any other circumstances, Habasi, I'd be good to my word. But these are exceptional times—"

"No!" Habasi hissed, "_No! _She _did _what you wanted her to do! She did it better than you had imagined. She is retired now, Christophe! She is _leaving!_"

"To where?" said Christophe, his voice actually regretful, "Listen, even if you do leave, what will you do? You need your sugar. I control the supply in any decently civilized province. Elswyer? After what you did as a girl, I'd be surprised if you lasted five minutes before your old 'friends' come to visit you. Face it; if you leave now, I'll make sure that not a single grain falls your way for weeks. You can't handle that, Habasi. I know you can't."

The Khajiit clenched her paws and eyes, shaking silently with rage. She then yowled in anger, grabbing Christophe by the collar and looking him in the eyes. She was more furious than he had seen her in a long, long time… Not since that fateful night, so many years ago. "You are a _liar!_" she screeched, "Christophe has _always _been like that, always! Why does he continue to do so! There was a deal, and she is too tired to continue!"

"Think," Christophe said, his breath stifled by Habasi's grasp, "I don't have many truly skilled agents at the moment. We're a young guild for the most part, and I need someone to do a task that is extremely delicate. I can't trust anyone other than you, not even S'Krivva—"

"You try to flatter this one using _her _example!" cried Habasi, "_S'Krivva!? _Your precious S'Krivva was good enough to become doyen with you, why can't she be good enough for this job! Confess!"

"Because you've always been the better theif, Habasi!" Christophe said, losing his cool, "Why do you think I helped her get her position in the first place!? Because I knew she couldn't hold a candle to you!"

Habasi yelled out again, and for a moment seemed as though she had been struck by a blade. She threw Christophe aside, and grabbed at her head. The Redguard fell to the ground and watched his companion. She was shaking again, and he couldn't tell if it was due to a sugar withdrawl or some flood of emotion. He picked himself back up and watched her as she pulled herself together. "Does Christophe have any idea what it was like," she managed, withholding a sob, "To be shamed in front of everyone? To have to go all the way to the ends of civilization, to a country that sees Khajiit as slaves? And to have the person who did that… The person who ruined an entire life… Be the one that she…"

Christophe gave a long sigh. "Please, don't."

"Why not?" Habasi said, shooting a burning gaze towards him.

The Redguard shook his head, his eyes sympathetic, but at the same time unmoving. "Because we were children back then, Habasi. I was a child, and you were a child. And I did something unforgivable to you, and I regret it. But damn it, Kitten, I've suffered, too. Do you think I wanted to do what I did? We might've been children, but…" he trailed off, not able to speak for a moment, "… I loved you."

Habasi lost composure again. Tears were freely welling in her eyes. "B-But how could it be…?"

"Because I was extremely ambitious," continued Christophe, the words weighing heavily on him, "And I saw you as a threat. I knew that you had a good chance at getting a doyen seat, and that if I could get you out of the picture, it would make my promotion all but assured. That's why I framed you. But we both knew that. But Habasi, that was a long time ago. Decades. I tormented myself with the knowledge of what I did, every day. I punished myself every time I remembered what I sacrificed to get to where I am. And, like you, I lost the ability to love, can you believe that? I've never cared for someone like I cared for you, not for all these years," he said with haunted eyes.

Habasi shook her head madly. "Impossible! People in love never do that! People in love—"

"The power of love is overrated," interjected Christophe, "And if you made any mistake, it was that you overestimated its strength. Looking back on it, I'll admit I made the wrong decision. And if I could change it, _believe me, _I would. But we can't. And now we can no longer reflect on the past like this, because we are adults, not children. This matter between us is dead now, do you understand? Whatever love we shared, it's burned out forever. We're old now, Habasi, and we need to think about our legacy. The only thing I ever accomplished with this miserable life I had was to keep this guild strong, I cannot let some self-righteous Lex ruin everything I—we—built. Do you understand, Habasi? This isn't for me, this is for the guild. You're not going to live much longer. In the time you have, I'd at least help to make this organization prosper."

Habasi stared at the ground. Her eyes, which just moments ago had so much energy, seemed dead. And for the first time in a long while, Christophe noted, they matched her body—weary and defeated. She had suffered much, by his own hand, and was about to suffer more still. He looked at the face of the woman he once loved, and saw that she was as unhappy as he was, a deep sorrow that struck the core of her soul. During those long decades of running the guild, and especially when the appeal of power dulled, he used to harbor little fantasies where Habasi had found some sort of happiness in a new lover in Balmora, and moved on with her life. But she was still a young girl on the inside, with a knife plunged so deep into her heart that it never had the chance to grow. It was almost enough to make him weep.

Habasi slowly tilted her head towards Christophe, making eye contact. "What does Christophe wish?" she asked, her voice bereft of energy.

"I need you to offer any and all assistance you have to Erasmus Servius," Christophe said without any delay, "It is vital that he or Helseth defeat Lex in becoming emperor. He has an affinity for beastfolk, so I think you'll be the best woman for the job. Do this, and you'll be free. No strings this time."

Habasi nodded and walked away. Christophe watched as she shuffled down the path, her leg still injured, and her gait still so spiritless. He felt a momentary tingling in his heart, and the urge to run over towards her and to… But for what? It would be of no gain, and silly to even consider. He leaned against the nearby wall and gave a long, pained sigh, the one of a man aged well beyond his years, and Christophe wasn't young to begin with. Moments later, he heard running from the guildhall. A young Bosmer was heading his way, he recognized her as Carwen, an up-and-coming young thief who joined about the same time as Methredhel did. She was looking around in exasperation and, when she noticed Christophe, ran over to him. "Doyen!" she cried out, "Ack, what a mess! Habasi, I don't even know how she could walk, I—"

"Don't worry about it," Christophe said, his voice neutral, glossing over any emotion he had inside him, "I sent her on a new job."

"Job?" asked Carewn.

Christophe nodded and stood up straight. He looked at the girl for a moment, considering something. "Listen," he added, "I'm done for tonight. Why don't you take over my responsibilities this evening?"

Carwen's eyes lit up. "Really!? You mean it?"

"Yes," said the doyen, moving away from the wall, "It'll be good leadership experience."

The Bosmer nodded enthusiastically, quickly taking Christophe's place. Before the latter had gone too far, though, she couldn't restrain from asking a question that she obviously had been meaning to ask for some time, "Please, sir, can I ask you something?"

Christophe jerked his head back, "Hmm…?"

"Is…" she began, slightly nervous to be asking this in the first place, "Is it true that you and S'Krivva are starting to think about retirement? If it isn't to bold of me to ask?"

Christophe narrowed his eyes, thought for a moment, and gave an affirmative nod. "I think you could say that, yes."

Carwen nodded energetically. "Thank you, sir!"

He soon vanished from sight. Carwen couldn't help but to break into a smile. "If Christophe and S'Krivva are gone…" she giddily whispered to herself, "Odds are that I might… Oooh…!"

She almost went into a fit of giggles, but noticed someone approaching her. She straightened her back and put on an air of authority, but almost lost it when she realized the newcomer was just Amusei. Amusei the Argonian was one of the most determined people she had ever met, a person so talentless he had repeatedly failed the entrance exam and generally bumbled his way into the guild. But he was indefatigable in work, getting jobs done through sheer willpower, and even had the honor of carrying messages for the Gray Fox, back when the guildmaster still seemed to be taking an active role in the guild. Carwen counted Amusei among her friends. The Argonian gave a surprised look as he approached. "Carwen?" he asked, "Why are you here?"

"I'm on duty tonight," Carwen said, beaming, "Christophe personally assigned me."

"I suppose you're moving up in the world," the Argonian mused.

"I sure am," Carwen replied with a wink. "And you'll never guess the news I just learned!" she added, becoming visibly more animated.

Amusei looked less than amused. "You're going to gossip now?"

Carwen shook her head, "No, you'll like this—Christophe and S'Krivva are thinking about retirement now. Can you believe it?"

Amusei actually seemed to take note, and widened his eyes. "Really, now?" he said, "That means…"

"Two empty seats of leadership..." Carwen said with apprehension, "Oh, I wonder who'll get them. Do you think we have a shot? They usually give them to younger members, right?"

"… One of us might have a shot." Amusei mused, "But I think that friend of yours, Methredhel, she'll be a shoe in. I hear that Lex has accepted her as though she were a real friend of his. She'll certainly make doyen for being key in his second downfall."

The brightness to Carwen's face diminished slightly. "I hadn't thought of that," she said, "With Methredhel being gone for so long… Well, I'm happy for her! She's like a sister to me, after all, and it's good to see friends excel," she finished, her voice almost convinced of what she was saying.

Amusei nodded, "Well, you're awfully mature about this. I half-expected you to be jealous."

"Nah," Carwen said with a wave of her hand, "But you should get back to work, you know. Jobs don't do themselves."

Amusei shrugged and walked off. "Whatever you say…" he muttered, unhappy about being so curtly dismissed.

As soon as he was gone, Carwen's face grew very serious. He was right, of course. Methredhel was destined to be one of the doyens, and that left the second open seat a contested one indeed… She had no idea how good her odds were… If not, she could always settle for shadowfoot, which had respectable prestige, but it only Methredhel were out of the picture, not such a good candidate—

Carwen stopped that train of thought. They had been friends since childhood, they had came to the city together, they were, as Carwen had said, nearly sisters. She needed to be happy, not envious. She told herself that more than once, but after every repetition, she couldn't help but wonder 'what if'… 'What if' she didn't have to worry about her… 'dear friend'…

* * *

Dive Rock was desolate. Dark clouds flew across the sky like gray horsemen, while the wind howled like a vengeful ghost. The normally pristine vista was spoiled by this horrid weather, with both the view towards the Imperial City and the great valleys of Skyrim obscured by rain and snow. The rock itself, though, had no sort of weather besides the great gales, which seemed to cut into the flesh like icy daggers. This land seemed empty, but that conclusion is a deceitful one. A voice spoke out over the wind, in a language far from Tamerilic, "Did we have to chose somewhere so cold to meet?"

A man in a black cloak walked out of a shadow, almost as though he was an extension of it. He heard a woman laugh in response, "Be a man," she said, walking out from a different shadow, "I actually find this quite pleasurable."

The man looked the woman up and down. She too was clad in a cloak, her features obscured. "Homesick?" he asked.

"Hardly," she scoffed, "But I do wish that I could take off this damned robe. It's like wearing a cliché."

The man shook his head, "Now, now," he said with a wag of his finger, "You remember what the old man said. The cloaks stay on until we return home. No exceptions."

The woman shrugged. "But the old man is dead. Surely, without him holding our leashes we can be allowed to have a little more fun, don't you think?"

The man gave a laugh. "You make this sound like we're here for pleasure. A lot is riding on us, you know. Unless, of course, you wish to tell the Glorious One yourself how we failed our sacred task because we got bored."

She crossed her arms. "I didn't actually mean it. I forgot how insufferable you can be."

"The feeling is mutual. Now," he said, a little more professionally, "With our fearless leader reduced to ashes, I suppose we're going to have to improvise, won't we?"

The woman responded with a vexed sigh. "Part of me wishes he hadn't gotten himself blown up, to tell you the truth. We're going to have to take over his share of work—how bothersome."

The man put a hand to his chin in thought. "So… You want Lex or Servius?" he asked.

The woman pondered the question for a moment. "I'll take… Mmm… Lex," she said at last.

"Which means Erasmus is mine."

"Understood," said the woman, "Is there anything else we need to go over, my dear friend?" she said, half-sarcastically.

The man nodded. "Did you really kill the king?" he said, clearly not joking, "I mean, I know that he was expendable, but you've got to keep your profile a bit lower. I hear that they even _expected _you in Summerset."

The woman sighed in frustration. "Get off my back. Just because the old man is dead doesn't mean you need to pick up where he left off in pushing me around."

"Just watch yourself," the man said, the playfulness in his voice gone, "We know Ocato is suspicious. If he figures out that we're here, there'll be hell to pay."

"Yes, _mother,_" the woman said, walking back towards the shadows, "I'll be sure not to go wasting my money on dice, too."

The man brightened up and gave a laugh. "I promise you, if you cause the mission any problems, I won't feel bad about murdering you."

The woman, however, was already gone. The man chuckled again. "Women!" he sighed, "Such an irrational beast. It's really a pity that she had to be born female—had I had a man at my side here, I wouldn't be so worried. But that's life for you."

The man turned and walked away, vanishing away when he reached the darkness behind a great rock. Once again, the only presence at Dive Rock was the sound of the wind.

* * *

Maro Rufus sat at his desk, lazily twirling a quill between his fingers. Business was quiet. He was pretty sure that Varnado was giving him some dirty look for not looking business-like, but what was the point on such a boring day. Besides, everything had gone so _wrong _lately. He was so rude to Lady Flyte that he just _knew _she would never come back. Varnado was sympathetic at first, but eventually started talking about 'losing the self-pity'. Maro sighed.

"Do you think the Empire is going to survive?" he asked out of the blue, leaning back in his chair.

"Do you really want to know?" asked Varnado in turn, too busy fixing a pauldron to look up, "Or are you just saying this because you'll talk about anything to skimp out on work? Honestly, do you even think you're going to finish that ledger?"

Maro shook his head. "I'm curious. They say that we're going to win the wars, you know."

Varnado snorted. "For now," he replied, still focused on his work, "But how much longer until the thanes up in Skyrim start fighting amonst themselves again? And you know the Elsweyr could start up at any second as well. And hell, the Altmer still have most of their strength left. We're not out of blue yet."

The Imperial frowned. "The Courier didn't say that."

"The Courier is a pack of lies."

Maro nodded slowly in comprehension. Varnado was in one of his eternal foul moods, so it was best to back off him for now. The young man was seriously considering taking a nap when the door to the store cracked open. Sensing a customer, he looked up energetically. "The Best Defense!" he called out, "That's me, Maro Rufus! Light armor, the…" his call losing energy as he saw who entered the room.

Crossing the threshold was the Lady Flyte. Her dress was now a darker shade of blue, probably to match the season, but she still was striking. Varnado looked up and dropped the pauldron in surprise, his eyebrows shooting up. Maro stood from his chair and looked at the lady, unable to properly make a sentence for a moment. Lady Flyte looked about the store hesitantly before looking at Maro, putting a smile on to her face. "Ah, Mr. Rufus," she said, walking forward, "I… I was unable to forgive you for your hospitality the other day."

Maro opened his mouth, then shook his head vigorously. "Oh no," he insisted, "There's no reason to thank me. I was just doing what anyone would do, honestly!"

Varnado gave a cautious glance towards Lady Flyte. He couldn't read her expression. It seemed slightly nervous, which wasn't characteristic of the young lady. She gave a soft laugh. "I don't believe most people would single handedly save me from assassins. It was… Very courageous of you, Mr. Rufus."

The Imperial's face went red. "I… Ah, I just wanted to help, you know," he said, unsure of what to do, "It was nothing, really."

The lady smiled. Varnado leaned in forward. What was that in her smile? Hesitation? Could it be… Sadness? She nodded to Maro. "Be that as it may, I still believe some thanks are in order. I am quite busy, Mr. Rufus, but perhaps we could speak more at a later date…?"

Maro looked even more embarrassed. "S-Sure!" he said, hardly believing what was happening, "I'd love that! I mean, I wouldn't _love _that, but…"

Lady Flyte's smile grew slightly. "I am glad to hear that," she said, starting to turn, "And I do hope to see you in the future. If you will excuse me, gentlemen…"

The lady wasted no time in leaving The Best Defense. Maro collapsed into his chair, his heart beating rapidly. "Did you see that, Varnado!" he called out, "Did you see!?"

Varnado glanced out the window, watching her as long as he could. "I saw, all right…" he muttered cautiously.

"I _knew _those prayers would work!" Maro said, not noting Varnado's tone, "I just _knew _it!"

Varnado frowned. What was Flyte still doing around the two of them? She hadn't anything to gain, so why go to such effort? What was she plotting? He looked at Maro, who didn't seem to be wondering what the heiress of Anticlere was doing hanging around in his armor store. "Rufus," he said, "I want you to be careful around her, you hear?"

Maro nodded, but wasn't paying attention. Varnado wasn't thrilled with this turn of events. Flyte was opposed to Servius. She was a high-profile figure in the Imperial City. The Redguard didn't want to have someone so important around him, but it seemed as though whatever connected Maro to Flyte hadn't gone away yet. Things were starting to become very complicated for the two of them, and little did he know it was soon going to become much worse.

* * *

Kirania was lounging on her throne contently. She was in the middle of the palace in Mournhold, which not too long ago held distinguished dignitaries and royal courtiers. Today, though, it held some of Lex's officers, who had turned it into an impromptu command center. She glanced at the imperator. He was at one side of the room, his face stormy as he was brooding over something. "I never thought I'd be queen of Mournhold, you know," she called out to him, trying to be as friendly as possible.

Lex glanced her way, gave her a pained half-smile, and went back to thinking. She smiled softly at the back of his head. The past two weeks had done a great toll on him; his eyes seemed constantly bloodshot since Cormaris, and she didn't think he was getting any sleep. It was only getting worse from there. Just when he seemed to be turning around a few days ago, he signed the execution papers. She didn't envy having to make that decision. Thus, Kirania had brought it upon herself to try to be optimistic around him. Someone had to help him through this time, she reflected, and Sigrdríf definitely had ulterior motives. She hopped off the throne with rouge-like grace and landed gracefully, causing the noise of her impact to echo throughout the drafty room. Some men on the other side of the chambers gave her unamused looks, but she didn't care. She approached Lex. "Imperator?" she asked.

Lex gave a slight jump and turned his head. When he realized who it was, he ran a hand through his hair. It was normally short and orderly, but he had let it grow out as of late. In fact, Kirania could've sworn she actually saw some stubble. "Guardswoman," Lex said, composing himself, "What seems to be the problem."

"No problem," Kirania said, looking up at Lex, "I just want to make sure you're feeling all right."

The Imperial gave an unconvincing smile. "I feel fine," he said in a quiet voice, "Truly."

Kirania frowned, obviously not buying it. "Well, if you say so…" she began, but before she could finish there was a great clanging sound at the other end of the room. The two both looked to see what it was.

Near the main entrance of the room entered General Sigrdríf, her face eternally at ease, and looking as though she had just been relaxing. "Ah, imperator," her vibrant voice rang out, filling the halls, "I've finished my orders."

Lex looked over towards her. "So it is done?" he asked. His voice showed that he knew he didn't want to really hear the answer.

Sigrdríf gave a single, fresh laugh. "Yes. Sala and Hler are mere memories. The citizens of the city didn't riot at all, as I expected, so I wager we'll have full control of the capital within a week or so. It'll take longer to secure the countryside, but with the head cut, the Morrowind independence movement will surely die. We have succeeded, Imperator Lex. Well done."

The imperator gave a long, thoughtful nod, and said nothing for a few moments. "… That's good to hear," he said at last, the sentence coming together half-formed and rather awkwardly.

Sigrdríf too noticed Lex's haggardness. His gaze was tired and wavering, and his voice sounded irritated. For Kirania, it was hard to make out Sigrdríf's features from so far away, but she could've sworn that the Nord grinned slightly. "Scouts confirm that Servius was occupied Vaardenfel, and is going to drive the last of the Redoran back to their capital there. Vivec fell without problems as well. This… Complicates matters, of course," she said, still with smile on her face.

Lex nodded, looking even more tired. "Servius will use this to his advantage, no doubt."

"We'll need to arrive in the City before him now, I fear," Sigrdríf agreed, "Or else he will take the credit for this accomplishment. Anyway, I've already handed the reins of the legion to my second, so we can depart tomorrow, I wager."

Kirania scowled. "What do you mean 'we'?"

Sigrdríf replied with a refreshing laugh. "You'll need all the help you can get in the City, you know. I'm a war hero, and I'm pretty good at making people see things my way. I think I'll make a valuable addition to the imperator's retinue. If, of course, that is alright with you, sir," she finished, glancing at Lex.

"Ah…?" Lex said, having not paid close attention, "I, ah, yes, that will be fine," he said, shaking his head in fatigue.

Kirania spun around, her eyes wide open, "Sir!" she called out in protest, glancing at Lex.

"Excellent!" the general responded with a clap of her hands, "I'm so glad that you agree! I'll prepare the arrangements immediately."

Sigrdríf saluted, then left. There was a certain step to her stride that made Kirania feel ill. Then again, she always hated being around the harpy. She looked over to Lex, who was once more staring off into space. Kirania's anger towards the general dissipated as she walked over to where Lex stood. "Excuse me, sir," she said, looking up to him again.

Lex turned around and glanced at her. He seemed to have aged a year or two in the past week or so. The two hadn't spoken much since the battle, as Lex had since preferred to dine alone and spend hours when he wasn't at duty in his quarters. It seemed unhealthy to be away from human contact for so long, but as an imperator, not many people could actually say that to him. Kirania gave him an understanding smile. "Sir, would you care to eat with me tonight? We haven't done so since…"

She trailed off, biting her lip. She didn't need to finish the sentence. Guilliam.

Lex stared into her eyes for a few seconds. It was intense moment. She had seen this sort of scrutiny before, as though he were making some sort of moral judgment on someone, usually before he brought in a criminal. She suddenly remembered that she was here on a mission, and it was accompanied by a warm wave of caution. She thought for a moment that she had made a mistake in asking, but Lex's gaze softened. "… I think you're right," he said at last, "Very well. Let's go to my quarters. We might as well eat while we still have a roof above our heads as opposed to some canvas."

Kirania's smile widened. "Let's," she agreed.

The two left the royal chambers, not noticing at the other side of the room, a door was half open. Sigrdríf watched them leave with a calculating look on her face. 'That girl…' she thought to herself, 'What exactly is she after…?'

She didn't waste any time thinking about it longer. She turned and started walking down the other hall. Sigrdríf shook her hair about her as she tried to push aside the day's thoughts; it would be a pleasant night, she told herself. For the first time in ages she could have a proper bath, and she even had some free hours in which to write home. She opened a massive door to continue her path, but as she walked through, she collided into a man who was wearing legionary armor. She took a jerk back and scowled. "Why are you…" she managed to say before she trailed off. She looked up and was face to face with none other than Erasmus Servius.

A deadly smile crossed Servius' face. "General Sigrdríf," he said, "This is a pleasure."

Sigrdríf looked far less amused. "General Servius," she responded curtly, "I had no idea that we were to receive the your company tonight. I believed you to be in Vaardenfel."

"I was," replied the Imperial, "But as luck would have it, they can teleport you between the capitals."

"Fascinating," she said, starting to move, "Now general, as much as I would enjoy speaking with you further, I really have work that must be done. Keeping the capital under control, you see…"

Servius moved to interpose his body between hers. She looked at him warily. It had been years since they had last met, and she had forgotten what it was like to be around him. His face, despite the scars, had a sort of poisoned nobility to it, as though he were a fallen champion. "Actually," he said, his voice still dangerous even when calm, "I came to speak to you. Fortune truly must be on my side today."

Sigrdríf stood up straight. She certainly wasn't going to allow herself to be intimidated by Servius. The latter, who normally could make most anyone tremble if need be, smirked slightly. "Well look at you," he began, "The last time I met you, you were a little girl. Now you're a grown woman… And even have the scars of battle on you. I heard all about Cormaris. Quite heroic."

"Do you need anything, general?" Sigrdríf insisted, "Because if not, I really have some work to do."

"I'm just here for pleasure," replied Servius, an ominous smile still on his lips, "And intend on leaving soon anyway."

"Good," said Sigrdríf, walking past him forcefully, "Then I wish you a good evening."

Before she could get two paces away, Servius looked over to her. "How's your voice?" he asked idly.

Sigrdríf stopped. She took a deep breath in before turning around and looking back to Servius. "It's fine," she said slowly, "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Servius replied with a shrug, walking towards her, "I'm just a little curious… I have so little to do lately, I've decided to start reading more. It's good for the mind, or so they say. And you know what really fascinates me? The Voice. What a fascinating ability. It's so rare these days, I never thought I'd really meet a true Tongue. I regret not being at Cormaris; they say you took down a silt strider."

They were now face to face again. Servius' smile gained a little more venom. "Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but it would normally take at _least_ a half-dozen Tongues of your age to knock down that silt strider, am I right?"

"You know nothing of the _thu'um,_" Sigrdríf said bluntly, "Perhaps I'm just a prodigy. I am the Battle-Singer, after all."

"Oh, you _are _a prodigy, general, I'll give you that. I have a feeling that you'll go down as one of the greatest Tongues in history. Of course, seeing as how quickly you're developing your powers…"

Sigrdríf was now openly scowling. "What do you want, Erasmus?"

The Imperial's smirk grew. "You don't have much time left," he said, painfully serious despite his face, "You know that. Your voice is amazing, _too _amazing. You taught yourself, never receiving proper training. And that's what will end you. In a few years time, you'll lose the ability to raise your voice without harming anyone. By the time you're thirty five, you won't be able to do anything that will make you breathe heavily without breaking someone's bones. And by forty, you'll be confined to a mountain, totally unable to speak. And you know that this is the _best case scenario._"

Sigrdríf flared a nostril. "What's your point? This might surprise you, general, but I've known that longer than you have."

"What if I could offer you a way out?" Servius asked, the words coming slowly, as if from the Prince of Plots himself.

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Lines are being drawn in the sand, general," said Servius, "Anyone can see that. And I get this little impression that you favor Lex. Let us be perfectly frank; I _will _succeed. You _know _this. I just received news from the capital; Civello has been murdered."

Sigrdríf spasmed as though she had been struck by lightning. "Civello, murdered!?" she said, almost shrieking the last part.

"Indeed. Civello is gone, and so are Lex's chances. Listen," Servius said, his voice now serious and businesslike as he delivered his proposition, "Let's not be foolish and animate Lex's political corpse any longer. I need to focus on Helseth. I want you, Battle-Singer, to make sure that nothing in this little state of affairs changes. But I'm not asking this as charity. You see, in the Black Marsh, I have encountered many, many undocumented plants. One of them, a personal favorite of mine, I've realized can be refined into a local muscle relaxant. Do you know what that means?"

The Nord shook her head. "I thought not," said Servius, "Simply put, this is a medicine for all your vocal woes. Simply drink it, and your lungs will be put in a state where the Voice will no longer function. Imagine this, Sigrdríf—you could continue fighting, continue speaking; you could even get married without the fear of, ah, 'nuptial damages'. Wouldn't you like to live without the specter of an early, inevitable isolation hovering over you? All you need to do is make _sure _that when I give the signal, you help end Lex's already finished campaign. Trust me, you'll even be doing him a favor."

Sigrdríf, for once, was somewhat shaken. "You're bluffing," she said, "There's no reason that you would have something like that without me even knowing of its existence."

Servius reached into a pouch. "Somehow, I figured that you might say that. So I brought a sample, free of charge. Try it out, and see how it works," he finished, handing Sigrdríf a small bottle.

She looked at it warily. There was a guard stationed at the far side of the wall; there was no way he would be foolish enough to try and poison her. She slowly, reluctantly took the sip—the liquid was bitter, and she coughed as her entire throat went numb. A moment passed as she got used to the feeling. She centered herself and took in a deep breath, and… Her lungs filled. Her eye widened in shock. It was like she was a little girl again, without any knowledge of the Voice. She couldn't perform it anymore.

The Imperial took the vial from Sigrdríf without resistance. "Of course, this small dose will wear off soon… Just a sample. But I can make enough to last a lifetime… Maybe more, if your children need it… All you need to do is help me finish the inevitable," he said, looking down at her with his steel-gray eye. "What say you?"

Sigrdríf's eye was wide open, and her lips were trembling. She swallowed once and began to talk. "I… I need a little while to think it over."

"Of course," said Servius, "Please, don't let me keep you. Just remember, I'll contact you and give you information when needed. If you do so… Well, I'll be the first to welcome you to life."

He turned and left. Sigrdríf hadn't moved from the spot, struck still by the offer. As Servius walked back to the mage who would send him back to Vaardenfel, his jagged face had a black smile over it. The guard captain would have every lifeline cut out from under him. Helseth was next. Soon, he reflected, there would be no one who could stop him. Soon, the revenge on the Flyte family could begin. Soon, he would be emperor.


	30. Civello's Legacy

The winter sun lit Green Emperor Way with a peaceful midmorning glow. It never snowed here, but the temperature was definitely cooler than it had been, heralding the coming of Evening Star, the final month of this, the Year 434. The small, cobbled path which wound among the graves was flanked by hedges, and the only sound of this quiet day was the distant chirping of birds, and the metal clad footsteps of Hieronymus Lex.

His hair was orderly once more, and his face seemed less fatigued. Once again, he had become the very symbol of decorum, both orderly and proper. His face had the serious air of a man in thought, but what he was reflecting on was impossible to determine. He strode with a sense of purpose, not going out of his way to examine any of the cracking tombstones or weathered, ivy-coated monuments.

Lex eventually arrived at a rusting metal railing that opened into a small, enclosed area of graves, apparently a family's plot. He opened the creaking gate and gently closed it, trying hard not to disrupt the atmosphere of the cemetery. He entered the area. At the far end he saw a large, modern grave marker. It was a massive urn made of pure white marble, glistening in stark contrast to the other older tombstones in the area. Lex gave a soft half-smile and approached the urn. He kneeled and read the inscription. On the plinth, the following words clearly appeared,

_By the GRACE of the NINE DIVINES,_

_CONSTRUCTED to the ETERNAL MEMORY of_

_PRIMO ANTONIUS_

_BORN the FOURTH of MID YEAR 413_

_And DIED the SIXTEENTH of FROSTFALL 433_

_A MAN of a GENTLE DISPOSITION, UNQUESTIONED HONESTY, PRODIGAL INTELLECT, and IMMACULATE PURITY_

_DEDICATED by his LOVING UNCLE GIOVANNI CIVELLO_

_GUARD CAPTAIN of THE IMPERIAL CITY_

_This, the THRITIETH of FROSTFALL 433_

Lex frowned and stood. He looked about the plot for a moment, trying to find a different marker. In the shade of a willow tree he noticed another stone set into the ground. Far from being the gaudy urn, it couldn't have been larger than two bricks. He narrowed his eyes, not really believing that it could be what he was looking for. But a moment later he had kneeled before this memorial, too, and read the inscription carved into the small, but lovely stone.

CIVELLO

385 – 434

Lex looked upon the grave for several quiet moments. He reached out and gently ran his fingers across the name carved in stone, and then clenched his fist. For the first time since he heard the news, it truly felt as though Civello was really gone. He spent another minute looking at the grave in silent contemplation, gave a customary and respectful prayer, and then stood. As he turned, though, he learned that he was not alone. Standing across from him was a man watching him intently, and when they made eye contact, the stranger smiled. "You must be the great Imperator Lex," he said warmly, stepping forward and extending his hand, "My name is Pietro. Pietro Civello. Giovanni was my brother."

* * *

At a glance, Pietro had some of the basic physical features of a Civello. Like Giovanni, he had small, watery black eyes as well as thinning hair without a hint of gray. But that was where the similarities ended. Pietro was well built, with a strong, muscular body that was hard to make out under his modest clothing. His face was rugged and proud, the sort that you find only on a man who has worked hard for a living. He spoke softly and only after a second of reflection, making sure every word had intent and purpose. He and Lex had walked to Luther Broad's to have a light luncheon, and they had spoken little on the way there. Pietro lacked Civello's desire to engage in endless conversation. They had both ordered their meal, and were waiting for it to be finished. Pietro shook his head, smiling in amazement. "It's hard to believe that I'm eating with a candidate for emperor," he said, "My wife will never believe this."

Lex frowned. He had been so focused on victory and survival for the past two months, he had almost forgotten that he was now a major political player. "Have you been in the City for long?" he asked Pietro, trying to start a more comfortable subject.

"No, not at all," replied Pietro, "I came for the funeral, which was held a few weeks ago. I intended to return home immediately, but found that there is a lot of freelance work here that pays very well. The plague has devastated the countryside, and this extra money might make the difference this year for my family."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Lex.

Pietro shook his head. "It's nothing that you can do anything about, not now, anyway. Although if you're successful, you'll need to feed the people somehow. Servius and Helseth have been trying to convince us that they're some sort of populist heroes, but I think most people see them for what they are."

Lex looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. "What about me?" he asked neutrally.

"You're not like that, imperator," said Pietro with a knowing look in his eyes, "You're an honest man. It's curious that Giovanni would grow so fond of you."

Lex's frown deepened as his face wrinkled in thought. "How well did you know the Legion Commander? Were you two close?"

Pietro gave a good natured laugh. "We were anything but," he said with a smile, "Giovanni and I, even as children, we very different people. When he left home to seek his fortunes, we didn't keep in touch. I heard a little about him, through various rumors, and of course mother never lost faith in him, but I hadn't really spoken to Giovanni since… Well, since we were teenagers, I assume."

"And yet you came all the way here for his funeral?"

Pietro nodded, "Giovanni might've been a… Complicated man," he said slowly, "But ultimately, he was still my brother. Blood is the strongest form of relationships, after all."

Lex nodded. The two didn't say anything for a short time, and it was obvious that Lex seemed troubled. Pietro gave the imperator the occasional glance, but didn't pry. It wasn't too much longer before Lex started to speak. "Perhaps I am being too forward, but… I didn't know Giovanni as well as I would have liked to. And… I had many questions I never was able to ask him. Would you mind speaking of him, of his character?"

A sad smile found its way onto Pietro's face. "Well, as I said, I didn't know him too well myself, but… He was a man of burning ambition, I can say that much. He was a _big _person; not just in size, but in mind, too. Far too big for our little village. When we were young, Giovanni always strove to be the best. Of course, physically he couldn't be. He was just too rotund, and he never really developed a strong physique. That didn't stop him from trying though; gods above did he try. And there were a few things where he did excel—all of his teachers said that he was intelligent, almost frighteningly so. He was also good at making people see things his way, a charmer in his own unique style. And an excellent liar," Pietro mused, noting the darkness that covered Lex's face at that mentioning, "Easily one of the most talented liars I ever met.

"Life was difficult for him. He looked silly, and always had such queer mannerisms, so it was difficult for some to take him seriously… But when he left us suddenly and went to find his fortune… I'm not sure if her ever looked back. I tried to forget him then. Giovanni was rather insulting on his way out, especially to our poor mother. But you can't really detach yourself from family. I heard the occasional odd story about him. Rumors surrounded him, and I'm sure you've heard them all. Most were baseless. I can only assume some weren't… Hah," he said with a sad smile, "I suppose I'm not painting you a cheery picture, am I?"

Lex didn't respond. Pietro nodded, and then continued. "But I do know one thing for certain about Giovanni. He was extraordinary unhappy. I have a feeling that all people who live for money are. He didn't love his wife, you know. Married her out of political necessity. She was quite the harpy, and they say she spent more evenings in other men's beds than his own. It's amusing, I suppose," he said, shaking his head in semi-disbelief, "We all desire love so much, and yet it's the love of money that consumes so many people. I couldn't imagine having no one there for me like he must have felt. Fortune means nothing to the lonely."

Lex looked up. "You sympathize with him?"

"No," Pietro said firmly, "What he did was wrong. But I certainly can empathize with him. Regardless, it means little now. Giovanni kept no journal, and had no close confidant, so I suppose the truth about his actions, the _complete _truth, will be lost, at least until someone is clever enough to gather and put together the pieces of what he did. Even then, I still think we'll never be able to fully understand Giovanni."

Lex nodded thoughtfully. "Do you know of his involvement in the destruction of a Nordic convoy in southern Morrowind?" he ventured, as though he was meaning to say this for some time.

"Forgive me," replied Pietro, "But I do not."

"That's fine," Lex said, leaning back, "I was just hoping… I didn't expect to arrive and not find him here. But since I've left, I've been wondering if he was a good man or not. It's hard to tell."

Pietro tilted his head. "It's always hard to tell, or even determine, whether someone is either 'good' or 'evil'. It's a task for philosophers, not men like us."

"No," Lex insisted, "There _is _good and there _is _wrong. There are just times like these where the line blurs," he finished, a little less resolutely.

"Perhaps you are right, imperator," Pietro said in his own, slow way, "But I'm just a carpenter. My place isn't to judge. It would be frightening, I think, to be a judge."

Lex didn't have a response to that. The two sat in a soft silence until Pietro shook his head with a laugh. "Forgive me, sir," he said, "You must've come to me looking for more answers than this. I'm sorry that I can't provide them."

"It's fine," replied Lex, "There are some things, I suppose, that we can't know."

Pietro was about to respond when the pair's meal arrived. The two ate in relative silence, not bothering to comment on the food. Lex seemed distant and pensive. Apparently he still lacked the answers that he was searching for. With Broad having been paid, Lex and Pietro left the establishment and turned to face each other of the street. Pietro spoke first, "I must say, it was an honor to dine with you, sir."

"It was nothing."

"So you insist," replied Pietro, "But I doubt Helseth or Servius would've spent their afternoon dining with a mere carpenter."

Lex gave a thin smile. "I prefer the company of carpenters more than what those two must be with."

Pietro laughed and extended his hand. Lex took it and they shook. There was something in Pietro's grip that suddenly reminded Lex of leaving Civello's chambers for the last time, nearly two months ago. The strength in the wrist showed a sort of drive and conviction that was shared by both of the brothers Civello. There was a brief gleam in Pietro's eyes, and then he turned and walked into the crowd. Lex pivoted as well, and left the district.

* * *

"_Assassins!?" _Servius bellowed, his face red with rage, "It was _you _who sent out the assassins!?"

Servius' second in command kept her face expressionless. "I acted in a way that I determined to be in the best interests of your candidacy, sir."

Erasmus Servius was back in his quarters, at last having returned from Morrowind. He didn't seem pleased. He paced back and forth in the middle of the room, consumed by anger. Two lower ranking guards stood at the door, and at one table at the side of the room a horrified young woman was curled into a ball, flinching every time Servius raised his voice. The general slammed his hand on his desk. "Do you _understand _what you've done!? You murdered Giovanni Civello! The _XIIth _murdered him! This is a _catastrophe!_"

"We have used such tactics on other political obstacles in the Black Marsh, sir," the officer said coolly.

"Against petty magistrates and local officials!" Servius snapped, storming back over towards her. "_Never _to a man who hold Civello's office. _Never _to a superior officer! And _Helseth, _too!? You tried to poison the _King _of Mournhold!?"

The officer said nothing. Servius paced about his room, tearing at his hair. "I've painstakingly planned every step of this process_,_" he yelled, "And you've jeopardized this beyond belief! _Civello!_" he bellowed. 'Leave it to that greasy dog to be an obstacle, even in death,' Servius brooded.

He closed his eyes and said nothing for a minute, although his breathing was still heavy and exaggerated. After a long period of silence, he opened his eyes. "I've nothing more to say to her," he said, his voice steady, yet still extraordinarily dangerous, "Take her out of my sights."

One of the guards led the woman out of the room, who provided no resistance. Servius returned to his desk and sat down, sinking low into the seat. His eyes smoldered as he stared viciously at the far wall. Occasionally he would mutter something unintelligible and every few minutes he would slam his fist into the table. After some time he had fumed off some of his anger, and beckoned the other guard over towards him. The Argonian approached. "Tell me, have the convoys returned from Morrowind yet?" the general said, still distracted.

"They're being held up by some Dark Elf holdouts. They should get here before the month's end, of course."

"Not good enough," replied Servius, still glaring forward "Tell the captains to get them here, as soon as possible. I don't care if we take more losses."

The Argonian took a moment to process the orders. "General…" he said slowly, "It isn't like you to endanger the men like that."

Servius snapped his head up and looked the guard in the eyes. "You have no position to criticize your superior officer's orders, champion."

"We follow you because we trust you," the Argonian replied evenly and calmly, "You are not like most men who come here. You understand us. That is why we allow you to lead us. But if you start betraying our trust, your comrades will not follow you. You know that about my people."

Servius stood suddenly. "And what would you have me do? You _know _what we have in that convoy; you _know _that we need time if it is to be used! And if Helseth catches wind of these killings we are ruined! And unlike that _worm _Helseth or that _puppet _Lex, my cause is righteous!" he said, in a rare moment of unguarded honesty, "If these trials are indeed from the Divines, they test my patience! Why is it that I must face difficulties that others do not? I have struggled for too long to falter here, far too long!" he finished, consumed by madness.

The general took a deep breath in. He spent a few moments composing himself. It wasn't like him to become this angry about anything, especially in front of his men. He looked up to the guard. "I stand by my previous order," he began, now keeping his voice even, "I need the convoys here, in Cyrodiil, _now. _If they come too late, it will be completely without purpose. As for Cassandra—demote her, two ranks. As of now, you have her position. As my new second, I believe it goes without saying that I expect that you never order assassinations behind my back as she did."

The Argonian nodded slowly. "So we leave Flyte and Helseth alone?"

Servius smiled for the first time, although it was still layered by bitterness. "Alone? Hardly. I said no assassinations, but you've got to remember," he said, glancing at the trembling girl in the corner, "That there is more than one way to destroy a person…"

* * *

"And we were able to get the second bag out of the house without many problems. Amusei almost gave us away, but what do you expect out of him?"

"Mmm…"

"Christophe was pretty happy with the haul we brought in. I think I'm actually going to get a promotion for this, isn't that wonderful?"

"Mmm…"

"… And then I slew a dragon. Two of them, in fact."

"Mmm—What?"

"You're not paying attention at all, are you Meth?" Carwen said with a straight voice.

Methredhel shook her head. "I was just… You know…"

The two thieves were lounging in their guildhall. For the first time in months Methredhel was able to get out of her stuffy uniform for more than an afternoon and truly relax. Lex had told her to take the weekend off, which she was more than happy to do. Now that she was no longer on the move, she realized for the first time how very tired she was. Carwen gave her friend a concerned look. "Alright, Meth. I haven't dug so far, but there's something wrong with you. Why are you so unhappy?"

Methredhel didn't say anything for a moment, adjusting a strap on her leather armor. "… It was more rough out east than I thought it would be," she said after a moment, "And I lost a good friend out there."

Carwen looked at the ground. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Methredhel replied quickly, "You don't need to say anything."

Silence followed. Carwen sipped quietly from a glass of wine as Methredhel looked blankly into space. It wasn't the fun reunion either of them had hoped for. Methredhel was the first to speak. "I'm thinking about taking a break," the words springing suddenly as though the speaker hadn't even decided to say them until just now, "From the job, that is."

Carwen, who up to this point had been rather passive, looked up with a small jolt. "Break? What do you mean?"

"I'm getting tired of this," Methredhel said, curling up into a ball, "This isn't what I thought being a member of the Thieves' Guild would be like."

"This is about the whole tailing Lex thing, right," Carwen said, now with a cautious tone to her voice, "Because this'll all be over before the month's end. You can hold on until then."

"I'm not talking about hanging on until then," Methredhel replied, "I mean, I'm thinking about taking a break. Now. I don't want to do this anymore."

Carwen leaned in over towards Methredhel, "Don't talk like that! You've hit the jackpot, you know? Christophe has made it very clear that we're not going to let Lex become emperor, and you're key to those plans, you know? You can't just _quit _on us."

Methredhel scowled. "This whole deception… It's making me uncomfortable, okay? This isn't what I signed up for."

Carwen looked at Methredhel for a few moments, and a look of comprehension flashed over her face. "Gods above," she said, "You're _serious _about this, aren't you? You actually care about Lex."

"Don't assume too much," Methredhel replied dryly, "… But yes, I'll admit that he isn't as bad as we thought he was. He's just a very… Focused man. And he's changed from last year, too. He's more peaceful, less zealous—honestly, I think he's a better man for the job than Servius."

"Are we talking about the same person here? Remember how he spent his time obsessively seeking us out? Remember how he used to throw innocent people in jail? Hell, remember how I was put behind bars for (what was it?) 'conspiracy to conduct loitering'? This man is ridiculous!"

Methredhel frowned. "Yeah, I know, but… Just trust me. He's not that bad of a person. He is... Different than us, but it's wrong to do this to him. It's just wrong."

"'Wrong'?" replied Carwen incredulously, "What do you mean, 'wrong'? Hell, Meth, you're a thief. Morality arguments don't suit you."

Methredhel gave a pained sigh. "You think? Listen to me for a second—do you really think that this is what we should be doing? Are we really helping anybody with our work?"

Carwen nearly laughed. "Listen to you! One year ago you were happy to rob anyone and everyone, and now you're getting all sentimental on me! You've _never _cared if you were doing the 'right' thing, Meth. C'mon, don't valorize or over-romanticize yourself. You're a professional doing your job, that's all. And your job involves you not looking out for Lex, you understand?"

With a strained smile, Methredhel nodded. Carwen looked her over once, with an appraising look in her eye. "You know, if Christophe knew how much you were getting involved with Lex, he'd normally replace you. I don't know if it was the battlefield or whatever, but you've changed. Regardless, we don't have the luxury of finding a new informant. Don't wimp out on us, Meth. _Everyone _is banking on you, understand? We need you to succeed. Can you do this?"

Methredhel didn't say anything. Carwen's frown deepened. "Can you do this?" she repeated, this time with more emphasis.

"… Yes," Methredhel managed.

Carwen leaned back and smiled. "I'm glad to hear that."

Methredhel stood. "I should be going," she said, forcing a smile of her own, "I should check in on Lex. He just learned about Civello's passing recently; I'm not sure how much it's affected him… You know I'll be back undercover until the year's end."

"Yes, I do," said Carwen, standing as well.

Carwen stepped forward and hugged Methredhel. "Listen, Meth," she whispered into her friend's ear, "Don't worry about all this. These feelings will pass, and everything will go back to the way that it used to be."

A sudden urge to cry swept over Methredhel for reasons she herself didn't understand, but she was able to resist. Carwen took a step back, and Methredhel smiled again. "See you later," she said softly, and without wasting another moment went out the door.

Carwen immediately sat back down in her chair, any trace of her previous happiness gone, deep in thought. She looked across the room towards an empty chair, and watched a man slowly materialize into it out of thin air. Christophe, apparently, had heard all. He didn't look pleased. "Do you think we can still trust her?" he asked simply.

The question carried weight. Everyone knew that Carwen and Methredhel were fast friends, and had knew each other since they were little girls. Carwen thought for a moment more before she responded. "… I think so."

"Has she ever acted this way in the past?"

"… No."

Christophe stood. "Very well," she said, walking upstairs, "Keep me informed."

Before he could leave, however, he glanced back to Carwen, his face unreadable. "Just remember," he told her, "Never forget your priorities. Some mistakes you can never take back."

Carwen gave him a confused look. "… Yes, sir. Thank you."

Christophe nodded and vanished upstairs. Carwen's face didn't become any more at ease. Dark rumors were starting to float around, especially about the death of Civello. From fishermen chatting conspiracy theories over lunch to people of importance inquiring into how Helseth Hlaalu's father _really _died, the atmosphere was no longer as focused on the shrinking rebellions and more towards the candidates themselves. This was going to be a dangerous time, that Carwen was sure of. She could only hope that Methredhel would keep herself out of activities such as those that incurred Civello's fate.

* * *

Lex had returned to Civello's headstone and knelt before it, lost in thought. Despite the cold, it was still a pleasant day, with a bright sun even more lovely as it slowly began to set. Few people roamed the streets in the crisp air, and Lex had only run into two people, apparently a young couple, on his way back to the cemetery. Lex still could recall some things about Civello, yet his memory was already becoming hazy. Civello's features in his mind's eye became harder to make out, and his voice became more and more distant. The former legion commander was becoming a shade in the corner of Lex's consciousness, now more distant than he ever had been before. Lex breathed in, and felt a dull pressure on his chest.

He heard someone walk next to him. He looked up to see Kirania standing, looking at the grave herself. Her face was also pensive, as though she were reflecting upon something. After a moment, she looked down to Lex and offered him an understanding smile. Her eyes were especially soft in this evening hour. "How are you faring, imperator?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Lex replied, his voice stoic once more, looking back towards the grave.

Kirania accepted the response and looked back to the stone as well. A few moments of comfortable quiet passed, until she spoke again. "Did you like the man?" she said, glancing back to Lex.

Lex reflected for a moment. "I don't know," he responded at last, "But I do know that I dislike seeing people die."

Methredhel set a hand on his shoulder. After a few more moments of introspection, he stood and turned. He was taken aback to realize, though, that he yet again wasn't alone. Standing just outside the gate were two people, apparently the young pair that Lex passed on the way to the lot. The woman in particular was looking at him appraisingly. She was dressed in a lovely dark blue dress with a matching parasol, and her rather ordinary face gleamed with an uncommon intelligence. As soon as she saw that Lex was looking at her, she broke into a stunning smile. Kirania had the sudden feeling, though, that it was rehearsed. "Imperator Lex, I believe?" the lady said, taking a few steps forward.

Lex watched her warily. "Yes, I am," he said, "Miss…?"

"Lynette Flyte, daughter of Viscount Auberon Flyte of Anticlere," she said with a small curtsey. Her eyes caught sight of the tombstone that Lex had been inspecting not too long ago. "My condolences on the loss of the legion commander," she added with a little more gravity.

Kirania looked openly suspicious. Lex glanced at the young man accompanying the Lady Flyte, who for some inexplicable reason was wearing a chain shirt. He looked back towards the lady, a serene expression on her face. He had seen that sort before, on the faces of nobles who needed something. It didn't matter how well someone could lie. A lie is essentially a social crime, and any criminal can be discovered, no matter how good they were at concealing it. "Thank you. It is an honor, Lady Flyte," Lex said, keeping his wits about him.

Lady Flyte's smile grew, "The honor is mine. It isn't every day that you meet someone who saved the empire. Many people in this city are very interested in your career, imperator."

"So I've noticed."

Kirania looked over the Lady Flyte critically. "What makes you say so?"

The lady responded with the pleased look of someone who purposely decides not to note an insult, "Well, I've been in the city for about half of a year now. And they haven't talked about you like this since… Well, when they first released the list of candidates. And to be honest, imperator, I think that I might wish to discuss things with you myself. Perhaps we could meet sometime…?"

Lex crossed his arms. "We can discuss this here."

For this first time, Lady Flyte seemed to be taken unawares. She looked over to the young man at her side, who looked rather lost, and then toward Kirania, who looked less than pleased. "Discuss this… Here? With your subordinate?"

Kirania gave the lady an offended look, but Lex didn't change his posture. "Anything you have to say to me you can say to her."

Lady Flyte spent a moment renewing her smile after a split second where her face looked as though she swallowed a spoonful of medicine. "Well," she began at last, "I believe you know that there are a great many factions with vested interest in the outcome of the contest for the throne. I represent one such group, the administrative district of Anticlere. We have decided that it is your candidacy that is in the best interests of the nation, and I wish to offer you my services in this last, and arguably most important month."

" 'Services'?" Lex responded.

"Yes. I pride myself in my knowledge of the political process. I am from the Iliac Bay, after all," she said as a small joke. Lex didn't laugh. "Regardless, I believe I can be of great assistance to you. Everything, from the best way to spend your money, to public relations, to navigating the social scene—I am extremely qualified in these areas and more, and am willing to serve at your command."

"And you're just going to do this for free?" Kirania said skeptically.

"Anticlere, as part of Daggerfall, does not feel comfortable allowing a man from Wayrest such as King Helseth to obtain too much influence," Lady Flyte explained. "Furthermore, General Servius and my father have… Personal issues, and needless to say Anticlere does not want any trouble with the new regime. Clearly, aiding you is in the best interest of my people, and therefore I offer this service as a courtesy."

Lex gave a nod. "I see," he said. "I mean you no offence, Lady Flyte, however, I am not sure if your assistance is needed. I hope you understand."

Kirania gave a small, vindictive smile. The lady, though, did not seem deterred. "Has someone approached you already?" she inquired, "Because I certainly could work within a group."

"It's not that," Lex said, trying to sound diplomatic. "I simply keep my circle small. It's a matter of trust."

The lady smiled. "I see," she said, her voice taking on a new tone, "Might I inquire how large your 'circle' is?"

Lex now was openly suspicious. "Why?" he asked forcefully.

The lady smiled, although he could see her machinations turning right behind it. "Because I personally think it only includes you, General Sigrdríf, and of course the late Commander Civello."

"I feel that size is plenty large enough," Lex said, not changing his tone of voice.

The lady gave a small sigh. "Imperator," she began with a new kind of determination, "I worry that you underestimate your opposition. Or perhaps you haven't factored in what King Helseth and General Servius are capable of. They're very underhanded men, and also extremely cunning. Commander Civello, if he lived, could have possibly helped you against them. But you are _alone,_" she emphasized, "Do you understand that? You have offered no favoritism to any sort of interest group, which is a very honorable policy, but a very alienating one. Most organizations in this city are going to support your rivals, and the public support you earned in your victories will not be enough to win with. You need assistance. Do not be ashamed. There is nothing wrong in asking for it. But without assistance, you will lose. I am sorry to have to say it so bluntly, but it is true. Your failure, however, would be unacceptable to Anticlere. That in mind, I suggest that you rethink your decision, Imperator Lex. Do you really think you can succeed on your own?"

Lex closed his eyes. He didn't even know if he even _wanted _to win, let alone have support. He felt Kirania stir beside him. "Sir…? We really should be going…"

He looked up and made eye contact with Lady Flyte. "Fine," he muttered.

Lady Flyte broke into a smile as fast as Kirania opened her mouth to interject. "I'm so glad we see eye-to-eye!" she said, her mouth beaming.

Kirania looked at Lex exasperated, "But I thought you said—"

"We'll need somewhere to meet, regularly," continued Lady Flyte, "Somewhere very private. There are eyes and ears everywhere."

The young man's eyes lit up, and he spoke for the first time. "My lady, we could use the basement of The Best Defense!"

She turned and gave him an inquisitive look. "Your shop…?"

He nodded. "We bought it from a mage. He was a paranoid man who magically sealed off the basement—something about his 'enemies'. Whatever the reason, we can speak there without being detected!"

The lady laughed airily. "Wonderful! Why don't we all meet there in, say, two hours? That will give you enough time to find General Sigrdríf. At that point, we can discuss what our next steps will be."

" 'Our' steps—?" Kirania began, but was cut off by Lex.

"Very well, Lady Flyte. I'll see you then."

The lady smiled, nodded to the young man, and started off, obviously quite pleased with herself. Kirania fumed in frustration, but before she could say anything realized Lex was already on his way. With an irritated sigh she ran off after him, silently cursing to herself and vehemently thinking that Lex's company was growing more and more questionable by the day.


	31. Motivations

Maro Rufus looked around the very unlikely group gathered about the table in his basement. He clapped his hands once. "Okay!" he cheerfully rang out, "I don't think everyone here knows everybody, so how about we go around in a circle and introduce ourselves?"

Varnado gave his partner a vexed look. "Rufus, tell me again why _Imperator Lex _is in our basement."

"I'm Maro Rufus," the Imperial went on, not listening to the Redguard, "And I'm here because we're using my shop." He looked to his left.

"I am Hieronymus Lex," a taller and slightly older Imperial began, slowly and with some hesitation at these odd surroundings, "Guard Captain of the Imperial City. As well as imperator and candidate for emperor," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"I'm Kirania," began the Bosmer at Lex's left warily, "I'm a guardswoman, and Imperator Lex's subordinate."

To the Bosmer's left, a tall, imposing Nord woman gave a brilliant smile. "General Sigrdríf Battle-Singer, VIIth Legion, Snowhawk. I'm here to support my commanding officer, of course," she said as Kirania gave her a distrustful glance.

When she had finished speaking, a different lady, this one a refined Breton, spoke up. "My name is Lynette Flyte, and my father is the Viscount of Anticlere," she said elegantly. "I am here to provide all the aid and assistance I can to Imperator Lex in his endeavors." Kirania seemed to be just as skeptical about Lady Flyte's motives, while a ghost of a smirk hovered on Sigrdríf's lips.

A fourth woman spoke, this one Imperial and quite common. "Julia Rufus," she said matter-of-factly. "I'm here because my dear brother told me were going to have lunch together last week," she said, giving a half-bitter smile to Maro.

Her brother blushed. "Oh, erm, I sort of forgot about that…"

Julia didn't seem to hold a grudge, although her speaking out of place caused a small embarassment for the Lady Flyte, who didn't seem to be overjoyed that the same impudent commoner who insulter her was somehow at her extremely important meeting. The lady glanced over towards Lex, who to her relief didn't seem to take offence at any of this. She cleared her throat. "Well, with that take care of—"

"Wait!" cried Maro.

The Lady Flyte gave a strained smile. "Yes, Mr. Rufus?"

Maro pointed to the Redguard at his right. "Varnado hasn't spoken yet."

"That's fine," Varnado insisted, "Let's just carry on."

"It is _not _fine!" Maro said with feeling, "I don't think the imperator has met you!"

He looked expectantly at Lex. The elder blinked once, as though he was surprised that he was being addressed. "Well, no," he said after a moment, "I've yet to make his acquaintance…"

Lady Flyte withheld a sigh and gestured to Varnado, "Very well. If you would be so kind…?"

"My name is Varnado," said the Redguard, his voice horribly vexed, "And I'm the one who owns this goddam shop. There, you happy, Rufus?"

"Well, um, yes…"

Sigrdríf snorted and Julia tittered. Meanwhile, Kirania gave an exasperated look to Lex, who merely shrugged in return. Lady Flyte nearly died from the scandal, and it was all that she could do to prevent cracking under the intense pressure of being face-to-face with the only man who could realize her goals. In retrospect, she knew that trusting Maro was usually a poor decision, but she had to press on with what she had. "With that taken care of," she began again, giving Maro a look that quieted him up, "I'd like to state some basic facts. Today is the first of Evening Star. On the twentieth, the Elder Council is going to make a decision on which candidate to back, after conducting a joint interview, simultaneously asking difficult questions to whichever candidates they chose. This will be open to the public, of course. In other words, we have a little less than three weeks to convince the people of this city that a Lex dynasty would be preferable to Erasmus I."

Lex frowned. He had never once before in his life seen him as some sort of dynastic progenitor. Kirania noticed the distant look on his face and frowned while Lady Flyte continued. "Funding is going to be critical, as the council will chose whoever sways the greater public. My father has allocated to me some funds, but they do not match Helseth's royal coffers or Servius' connections to the East Empire Company. Imperator, I believe that Civello left in his will a decent amount of money to be used in your bid?"

"Mmm…?" Lex said, looking up, "Ah, yes, he did."

"Wonderful," the lady continued, "I think it would be best if you picked up that amount today. You can take that one with you," she said, gesturing to Kirania.

The Bosmer took offence at that wording, but Lady Flyte didn't seem to care. She glanced to Sigrdríf. "I take it, general, that your rank is indeed that of a full general, not just lieutenant?"

Sigrdríf gave her a mean-spirited grin, "You'd be correct there, yes."

Lady Flyte nodded. "Good. You go to the new legion commander and request Servius' official records. No one below him in rank can get them, of course."

Maro looked towards Lady Flyte expectantly, "And what can I do?"

She frowned and thought for a moment. "You… Keep watch here."

The young Imperial nodded, happy to have such an important task. The lady picked up her parasol, "I, of course, will handle relations with the nobility. They require a… Delicate touch. Time is of the essence, of course, so I suggest that we do this and meet back here this evening. Agreed?"

The group consented and broke off, each leaving the basement towards their destinations. Varnado sighed and looked towards Julia, the only other person who remained downstairs. "This is a damn amount of trouble Maro's thrown us into," he said darkly, "You know they say Helseth uses poison to clear out those who oppose him."

Julia walked over towards him and sat down. "I'm just worried about that Flyte woman. Maro's nothing more than a tool to her, and he just keeps following at her heels like a lost puppy. It makes me sick. I always knew Maro was a… Unique boy, but he's a Rufus! We have pride."

Varnado smiled. "We're getting embroiled in one of the most important political events of the century, and you're angry that your little brother is lovesick?"

The woman shrugged. "Maro is more important to me than that Lex character."

"You've got a point," Varnado said with a small chuckle, "It's easy to forget that, with all the craziness."

Julia turned her head to Varnado, "Are you going to let this motley crew stay here?"

"I don't see that I have much of a choice. I can't just tell the heiress to _Anticlere _to up and leave."

"Yes you can. You just need to actually _do _it. Hell, I'll do it if you won't."

"Thanks," Varnado said while standing, "But we'll keep them around for now. It's only for three weeks."

Julia stood. "You're being too nice. People will walk all over you if you live like that in the world."

"One of my many flaws," replied Varnado, also standing. "Weren't you going to go have lunch with Maro?"

She smiled. "I was, wasn't I? Care to join me?"

Varnado started walking, "I'd love to, but I need to keep up the shop. Another time, perhaps."

"I'll hold you to that!" she called out.

As Varnado opened the door, he noticed that Sigrdríf was standing nearby, who had apparently not yet gone to her destination. It was almost as though she were standing in a position where she could hear what was going on downstairs. The Redguard frowned. "General, weren't you…?"

"Yes," she said with a dazzling smile, "I was."

She left the shop confidently and naturally. Varnado didn't seem pleased. Julia climbed the stairs and touched his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

The man didn't stop scowling. "I don't know," he said watching Sigrdríf vanish out of sight through the windows, "Maybe I should throw them all out after all…"

* * *

Habasi had entered Fort Nikel warily. She moved slowly through the shadowy passages, trying to hide her rather visible distaste for such a barbaric stronghold. It was almost as though she had entered a fort still under brigand rule, where proper citizens were by no means welcome. The Argonians and uncommon humans here gave her distrustful looks, and she felt like an outsider. Regardless, they told her where she needed to go—the absolute center of the fort, where the general resided.

She entered the room. In contrast to the rest of the building, it was clean and orderly. A desk in the middle of the chambers held a small stand, on top of which was placed a rather large but roughly cut gemstone, likely topaz, that seemed oddly crude to be placed in such an important place. To her left, a young woman was deep in an uneasy sleep, moaning sorrowfully. To her right, a man was surveying a map that had been placed on the wall. His body was as battered by age as her own, but bore not only the passage time but the innumerable wounds he had suffered over the years. She took a step forward and he, without turning around, spoke. "You're Christophe's agent, aren't you?"

She stopped in her tracks. She inspected him carefully for a moment before responding. "She is," Habasi said simply.

"A Khajiit?" the general responded, turning around slowly, "How surprising."

He walked towards her. He almost reminded her of a Khajiit himself, with a felinesque tension in his limbs—despite looking perfectly natural, he was ready to strike at any moment. His face did little to mollify his presence, both severe and covered in scars. He stopped a couple of steps in front of Habasi and looked down at her, with something turning in the back of his mind. "An experienced agent, I see," he said appraisingly, "All the better. I've been looking for someone like you."

Habasi breathed in slowly. "This one is here to help you. Do what you want with her."

Servius smiled darkly. "I shall. I am General Erasmus Servius," he said extending his hand, "And it is a pleasure."

Habasi looked Servius over warily, hesitantly. His hand seemed almost dangerous, as though it had been offered by a Daedroth, and any agreement she made with him was liable to betrayal, maybe even immediately. She carefully extended her own hand, and in an instant felt it grabbed. Servius shook it once. The pact was sealed. He turned around, almost now ignoring Habasi, and walked to the girl. He shook her shoulder, and the girl awoke. She gave a quick cry, but Servius shook his head strongly. "Quiet down," he said in an even tone, "It's time for you to go home."

The thief watched the girl carefully. Her mouth was moving, as though she desperately wished to speak but couldn't find the words. Servius helped her to her feet and glanced at Habasi. The Khajiit looked the quaking woman over. "This one doesn't understand. What is to be done?"

"The most beautiful act that can be done in the world," Servius responded, walking to the door, "Reuniting a broken family."

* * *

Lex and Kirania were walking through the Market District, with the Bosmer looking less than pleased. She had been cross ever since the meeting at Maro's store, and the fresh air was doing nothing to improve her mood. "I don't trust her," she insisted, looking towards Lex.

"Lady Flyte?"

"Yes," Kirania replied with venom, "She's a schemer, I can see it in her eyes."

Lex nodded, albeit unconvincingly, "Surprisingly, that is the exact same conclusion you drew about General Sigrdríf," he noted dryly.

"And I stay true to that observation," Kirania insisted with some passion, "Those two are the same, you know. They're manipulators! Do you think that Flyte really wants you to win? She's got an agenda, sir."

"That is painfully obvious, guardswoman."

Kirania scowled, "You already know?"

"Of course," Lex responded, "She has many selfish reasons for aiding me, but they are reasons nonetheless. Even if you distrust her motives, it's hard to imagine her in a better position if either Servius or Helseth were victorious. And frankly, we have little to lose—without a woman of her expertise, we will surely fail."

A few moments passed as Kirania made faces, processing Lex's words. He was right, and she had come to these conclusions already by herself. That didn't mean, however, that she had to like them. "And what of Sigrdríf, then," she insisted, "Why do you trust her so much?"

"_General_ Sigrdríf ," Lex began with gravity, "Fought alongside us at Cormaris. She risked her life to save mine. I feel as though a person who does that can be trusted to some degree."

"So you say," Kirania muttered, "But I wager that she has plans of her own. Who knows when she'll show her true colors; maybe it'll be when its already too late…"

"It seems that you see traitors in all my companions," Lex replied, "Have you ever counted you among them?"

Kirania stopped midstep, her blood turning cold. She looked over towards Lex, who was staring at her. She felt her heart begin to pound as sweat worked its way on to her temples. "W-what?" she managed to form ineloquently as her body trembled.

Lex sighed. "That was sarcasm, guardswoman," he said, resuming his pace, "A joke. I am capable of them, you know."

Waves of relief coursed through the Bosmer as she started walking again, "Well, it wasn't very funny, sir," she said in mock indignation, "And here I thought we were friends—"

Before she could finish her sentence, she looked across the road and felt her heart plummet into her stomach once more. Waving at her frantically was an elder Breton man, who waddled towards her as fast as his stubby legs could manage. Kirania started to gesture at him to go away, but Lex had already noticed and raised a brow. The man arrived and smiled to Kirania, apparently not noticing her chagrin. "You're back!" he said, "What excellent timing!"

Kirania forced a bitter smile. "Y-yes," she managed, "I'm back, and _very _busy—"

The old man looked towards Lex. "And bless my heart!" he said, shocked, "You're with the Hero of Cormaris! I never dreamed I'd ever see the day!"

"You have me a disadvantage," Lex said to the silly old man.

The Breton smiled. "Oh, me? I'm just a little old nobody. Emile Dupont, editor of the _Camlorn Post_. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

Lex shook his head. "I'm afraid my duties leave me little time for reading. I hardly keep up with the Courier as it is."

Kirania gave a nervous laugh. "And that's all the reason why we need to get going, Emile. We'll talk later."

Dupont seemed disappointed. "No, no. That won't do. Don't you realize that you've got royalties to be given to you?"

An amused smile worked its way onto Lex's face as he turned to his companion. "You're a writer?"

"Not a very good one," Kirania insisted, "Just a dabbler."

Dupont laughed good-naturedly. "Don't be so hard on yourself! You did an exceptional job for a first timer! I hope to receive more from you."

"Published, even," Lex continued, "I had no idea."

"Me either," Kirania said through gritted teeth.

Dupont looked to Lex. "You mean you haven't read her article yet, Imperator? I have a copy, you know. I have a policy that they're free of charge to heroes!"

Lex smiled. "That sounds fair. Let me see it."

Kirania shook her head forcefully. "I really think Imperator Lex is just too busy—"

"Bless my heart," Dupont said while retrieving a small publication from a pocket, "She's embarrassed!"

"Kirania, embarrassed?" Lex said with a warm smile as he took the paper, "This day is just full of surprises."

"_Excruciatingly _embarrassed, sir," she said, "Why don't we not read it, for my sake?"

"Article is there, sir," said Dupont, pointing to a small section of the paper, "She didn't even sign her name on it. You would've never known!"

"Which would probably be for the best," Kirania said yet again, "Please, imperator, we _need _to go."

Lex had already found the page. "Quiet down, I'm trying to read," he said gently as he began looking over her article.

_**T**__he Empire of Cyrodiil is just that. It is primarily an Empire, but also one 'of Cyrodiil'. As an Empire, it is by definition a body which rules over subjugated peoples, many of whom chafe under the hegemonic policies used by the Empire to stifle dissent. By maintaining the specter of 'free speech' (Such as when a popular publication in Mournhold, _The Common Tongue, _was forcefully disbanded for inquiring into a certain king's bloodstained past), the Empire tries to hide the fact from their annexed population that the Empire focuses solely on the good of Cyrodiil, at the expense of the rest of Tamriel._

_To maintain control of their ill-gotten lands, the Empire has to maintain total dominance over its foreign subjects. I need not elaborate on the myriad schemes used by the Imperial City to crush any sort of resistance that a province might provide. By disguising the Blades as a royal guard, the Empire masks that there is in fact an elaborate network of spies, who record every potential act of agency from the Isle of Betony to the Isle of Vaardenfel. By rearranging political bodies, the Empire is able to force their subjugated masses to conform to their policy; one need merely to look at the so-called 'Miracle of Peace', and question how 'miraculous' it was to have an area of potential reform suddenly quieted, and much to the Empire's benefit at that. Finally, the Empire maintains an iron commercial fist, perpetuated by their thrice-damned East Empire Company, which sucks the natural resources of the provinces as a dog licks marrow from a bone, further fueling their perfidious aims._

_This system is something every good citizen should fear. It does not merely crush nations under the heel of repression, but it also affects each and every one of us, individually. If the people were to realize the ploy they were under, the Empire would blow away like a fog bank, and its power over its conquests would immediately melt away. To best avoid this scenario, the Empire constantly fosters mistrust in its people, playing racial and economic hatreds against each other. This system makes it impossible for one to relate to their fellow man—it has been built to repress, alienate, and exploit_ you_, dear reader. _

_With this in mind, it is clear that change can not possibly come from within. The Empire will never allow a policy that could radically mutate the status quo—if that were to happen, their illegitimate empire would become obvious and their detractors would immediately become credited. There is a phantom of 'reform' that is dangled to the easily trusting mass every so often, solely so that they become pacified long enough that the shadowy Blades can eliminate the most clever and charismatic before they can incite revolt against the Empire._

_So I propose the only sensible solution to combat this threat. In short, a "Thieves' Guild". Before you, dear reader, assault me with jokes about the Gray Fox, think about what such a body could accomplish. If the laws were to be disregarded, the individual suddenly is unbound from his servitude and can relate to his fellows. If the system is stripped away, then the Empire loses its vice-like grip over the populace. But the laws _will _stand in the way of this reform._

_If there is a guild of thieves, it could operate outside the law. This bold organization could help show the powerless citizens an alternative to repression, one that encourages them to proactively take hold of their life and create their own futures. The Empire knows this, and that is the very reason they fight against any such organization. As it is corruption, it fears the purifying truth more than anything else. It will constantly be vigilant against such an institution, because if its putrification is brought to light, it will surely perish._

_So I say live on, Thieves' Guild! Let the Empire tremble as the people move to take hold of their destinies! The foundation of their cruel era is coming to a shattering collapse, and the Fourth Era is at hand! This bold, new era is one of equality and freedom: it is the Era of the Thieves' Guild! The liberation of Tamriel is at hand, but only if _you, _dear reader, are brave enough to seize it!_

_May I always humbly remain true to the people and to you, dear reader,_

_--M _

Kirania, horribly frightened, watched Lex as he read the article. She actually caught herself biting her lip as his eyes traveled across the page. His face had a serious and thoughtful expression on it, as he often did when he was contemplating something, and she couldn't tell how he felt exactly. Her heart grew weak with anxious anticipation, and her legs slightly numb. Lex eventually closed his eyes for a brief moment, folded the paper in two, and handed it to Dupont. "That was very… Revealing," he said at last, his voice neutral.

Dupont nodded, "Well, it was rather popular. I think our good friend here will become a great writer, wont you, Meth—"

"_Kirania_," the guardswoman shot out, feeling as though she was throwing a great stone.

"…Of course," replied Dupont. He noticed that neither of the two were looking extremely happy at the moment. He cleared his throat. "Well, it was an honor to meet you, imperator."

"Likewise," replied Lex, his tone of voice unchanged.

Dupont nodded and raised his eyebrows once. He handed Kirania a small pouch that chimed with the sound of gold before starting to turn. "Well, I'd ought to be going. Always busy, you know. Good health to the both of you."

With that, the Breton left, walking down the road quite quickly, apparently eager to get away from one of the most influential people in Cyrodiil, who was now in a much more withdrawn mood. The two stood in the market for a few seconds, saying nothing as the busy sounds of trade and commerce engulfed the two. Lex then turned and started walking the direction where he was originally going. Kirania held out a hand, and followed in pursuit. She said nothing for a moment before mustering up the courage to speak. "I… I apologize, sir," she began, not knowing really what she _could_ say.

"For what?" Lex responded, his voice still in its horribly neutral tone.

"For… For, you know…" Kirania muttered, "For _that._"

Lex didn't respond for a moment, but still walked and looked out in front of him, with some sort of purpose. At last he began to speak. "There is nothing to be sorry for, guardswoman," he said, his voice sounding official and his words almost selected. "Freedom of speech is guaranteed by the Empire, and is allowed even to us guards."

"But you don't like it," she said, trying to look him in the eyes.

"Correct," he replied, his eyes refusing to make contact, "I didn't."

"So I'm sorry," Kirania said again.

Lex sighed and stopped walking. He rubbed the bridge of his nose while he thought for a moment. "Kirania," he began, "I thought you'd realize that I don't need your apology. I don't _want_ it. There is absolutely no reason for you to apologize for having an idea."

"Regardless—"

"No," Lex insisted, "No 'regardless'. I know how you feel. I know what it's like to have an idea like that, to have something powerful be brewing in your mind. You don't apologize for that, ever."

Lex turned and looked at Kirania. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't necessarily angry, either. Kirania shook her head. "But the way I framed it," she said, "It came out all wrong. I know that now. I should've—"

"I know," Lex interrupted, "Don't sell me short. I, too, had an idea. A strong one that sat in my soul, churning in my mind. It was something so beautiful when I thought of it, so perfect in my head… When I tried to tell others, when I even tried to _act _on it, it was all so _wrong_… The idea was too perfect, and I was insufficient to carry it." he said, looking away from her.

Kirania leaned forward. "The Thieves' Guild…" she muttered, urging him to go on.

Lex closed his eyes again. "Sometimes you have an idea so strong, so powerful, it takes on a life of its own. You create the idea, but it suddenly has a life completely distinct from you. You truly believe that you consumed the idea, but in actuality, the idea consumes you. I remember feverish nights, pouring over books written about crime, creating such a powerful _idea. _It came to the point where it and I were one in the same… I couldn't even tell where I began and it ended. I was so angry at Phillida for reassigning me back then, but like I child fuming over a well-deserved punishment, I couldn't even realize then that it was for my own good."

The imperator shook the sentence from your head. "And I take it that you're no different, and that there is some sort of seed inside your mind. It's a… Mediocre seed, but it is an idea none the less."

Kirania's face turned from inquisitive to insulted. "Mediocre?"

Lex didn't seem to register her frustration, "But while you claim to champion such… Beliefs, I don't judge you for them. Had you acted on them, yes. But you have proven yourself to be loyal, even when tested in the flames of war. Many people who celebrate the Empire would likely have folded if faced with the dangers you had. Actions speak louder than words, guardswoman. Even if you somehow hate this Empire we strive for… I can't fully believe you, because you have _done _so much to make me trust you."

Lex didn't continue, and Kirania didn't immediately respond. The Imperial drew in a breath. "Are we clear?"

The Bosmer gave him a small smile, part shy, part embarrassed, and gave an even smaller nod. "… Yes, sir."

"Good," Lex said, walking again "Now come. Work doesn't finish itself."

The two matched pace and left the district, needing no more words to communicate whatever lay between them.

* * *

Itius Hayn looked about his new quarters. Civello's old items were still strewn about, from the gaudy, ostentatious silver to the overly luxurious tapestries which dangled from the walls. His servants began putting it all away. He was the legion commander now. There wouldn't be such frivolity on his watch. He sat at the desk, surprised that the Civello's chair was designed to make whoever sat in it seem a good head higher than they really were. He rolled his eyes and began to work.

About ten minutes later, he heard a knock on his door. The young man looked up curiously. He wasn't expecting anyone to come in today. "C-Come in," he said in the voice of someone who obviously has been given more responsibility than they were comfortable with.

The door opened swiftly as a large Nord woman entered the room, clad in the armor of an Imperial general. She smiled to the young man, her teeth as white as freshly fallen snow. "Commander," she said with respect.

Hayn widened his eyes. "General Sigrdríf," he began after a moment, "I… Did not know you were coming today."

"Your secretary told me that this was the time to meet," she replied, "Curious that he isn't here. I may take a seat, yes?"

The Imperial nodded, with a speed unbecoming of a commander. "Of course. Please, sit."

Sigrdríf gracefully took her seat and glanced towards Hayn. Although still donning her eye patch, she was still not unattractive. She gave a slightly dusky smile to Hayn, who straightened his posture almost nervously. The added height Civello's seat gave him wasn't enough to make him seem taller than the general. She gave a brisk laugh. "I see you're moving in quite nicely."

"Ah, yes," Hayn began, "Well, I didn't really think I'd be the one to replace Commander Civello."

"Tragic about his loss," Sigrdríf quipped, "You're the third commander in less than a year, aren't you?"

Hayn said nothing. Sigrdríf's smile grew slightly, as though she had correctly predicted something. "I came to make some requests," she began slowly.

"Ah, yes," Hayn replied, cutting her off, "Of course. You wanted the dossier referring to whom…?" he asked while opening his desk.

"General Erasmus Servius," she replied, and then quickly added, "And, of course, Imperator Hieronymus Lex."

Hayn stopped moving. He looked back up to Sigrdríf. "… The imperator?"

"Yes," Sigrdríf said with one of her dazzling smiles, "I'm sure that won't be too difficult."

The commander shook his head. "No. Not an option. The imperator holds rank equal to my own. I can't disclose any information about him."

Sigrdríf didn't seem dissuaded. "Come now, Itius," she cooed, "I'm good friends with the imperator. I'm sure he'd hand me it himself, if he had it."

Hayn looked her up and down nervously. "You speak too familiarly, general."

The Nord's smile didn't fade. "Forgive me, sir."

Hayn sighed and shook his head. "I shouldn't even give you Servius' file. It's quite clear that you're taking sides in the decision for Emperor. I seem to recall that I sent out messages to all acting officers that it would be…"

"'Inappropriate and unprofessional to support any faction'?"

"Precisely. I plan on returning honor to this office, which entails that I—and therefore the legion and guard—take no sides on this matter."

Sigrdríf ran a hand through her hair. "Commander, I wish to look over Servius' records for issues entirely unrelated to the candidacy."

"Really, general? If I recall correctly, you've become rather close to Imperator Lex."

"I fought alongside him, yes. Battle tends to do that to people."

"To the point where they support each other politically?"

"That," Sigrdríf said, her smile still present, "Would be a dangerous assumption to make."

Hayn sighed and recovered a large file and put it on the desk. The words _Erasmus Servius _were clearly written on the front of it. "This contains all the official documentation on him since he was transferred into the Imperial Legion. Prior to that, he was in private service, so you'd need to go to Anticlere to find out any more."

Sigrdríf smiled and took the information. "Thank you," she said, "And for Lex…?"

"Don't push it," Hayn said, growing a spine, "I told you, that's off limits. Besides, you're one of the few people who actually has his ear, so I've no idea why you'd need his records. Ask him yourself."

The general stood. "A pity," she said, licking her lips once to Hayn's discomfort. "Well, commander, I'd best be going. Duty calls."

Hayn stood as well, looking at her warily. "Before you go, general…"

Sigrdríf looked back towards the commander inquisitively. Hayn put his hands behind his back and opened his mouth. He said nothing, and waited for a moment, as though he were trying to tell the general something very difficult to say. "… Can we be frank, Sigrdríf?" he said at last, looking as though he was nearly in pain.

Sigrdríf looked at him for a few seconds. "Of course," she said, turning completely around.

Hayn spent several more moments without speaking. His eyes were closed, his face anxious and irritated. "Perhaps you did not know Lex as I did," he began very slowly, "But I knew him when we were both captains. He… Was a buffoon. A fool. An embarrassment to the guard—whathaveyou. I don't know the nature of the man, but I do know that he unsuited for leadership. And personal feelings aside, I think you must _know _that I'm correct. So I am asking you, _please _stay out of this. Do _not _get involved with his candidacy."

After he finished his words, he looked at his table ashamed. Sigrdríf gave a small smile and walked towards him. "Itius… Think," she said softly, "Didn't I tell you it would be a danger to assume whose side I was on…?"

Hayn looked up at her. She kept that thoroughly unprofessional smirk on her face, but he couldn't bring himself to be angry at this moment. She tilted her head. "Why do you think I want his record…?"

The two made eye contact for a moment. Suddenly, Hayn's eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Sigrdríf nodded her head, still smiling. The commander opened his desk once more and grabbed a second large file and laid it on his desk. This one bore the title _Hieronymus Lex, _and under those words was the addendum_ CLASSIFIED BY ORDER OF THE LEGION COMMANDER. _Sigrdríf picked up the file and beamed towards Hayn. Without another word she turned and left the commander's chambers, leaving Hayn alone.

Hayn sat back down and stared forward. His hands did not return to the still incomplete paperwork strewn over his desk. For about a minute he was dead silent, but then let out a nearly pained sounding groan. He threw his head onto his desk. "Dammit!" he cried out to no one in particular. "Dammit…"

* * *

Lex and Kirania arrived back at the Best Defense a little before nightfall. Lady Flyte and Sigrdríf were already there, the former speaking with Maro while the latter was sharpening her axe with a whetstone. They both smiled upon seeing Lex. Lady Flyte walked over to him and curtsied. "A pleasure to see that you're back, imperator," she said brightly, "Did you receive the funds?"

Lex nodded. "There were several stipulations. It's almost as if Civello foresaw his death. Much of his estate has already been spent on my candidacy."

Sigrdríf grinned darkly. "Civello… He certainly had foresight, didn't he?"

"Regardless of what Civello planned on happening," the lady cut in, "We now have some more capital to work with. I've already begun work that will keep you high in the masses' eyes. Between the exotic monsters I've been importing for an arena spectacle and the public banquet in honor of you victory at Cormaris, the common man will have such a carnival that you'll be the natural choice of Emperor."

"I, for one," added Sigrdríf, "Got Servius' files from the commander. There's less in here that I would've hoped for—it's all whitewashed. But I've called in some favors with a general down south, and he's looking into some of the lesser known incidents that happened in the XIIth since Servius took it over."

Lady Flyte looked back to Lex. "Finally, the esteemed Ra'Karth-Dro has opted to provide us his significant support. Apparently Helseth ended his bid, and he eager for revenge."

Lex nodded. "Good. Perhaps we should discuss how to spend the septims, then. From my reckoning, Civello left us…"

The imperator was interrupted by a knock on the door. Maro frowned. "That's funny for a customer to do that," he muttered.

A moment later the door opened, revealing none other than the General of the XIIth Legion himself, Erasmus Servius. Lady Flyte's eyes widened as she watched him walk into the shop, followed by a Khajiit woman. Kirania glanced at the beastfolk out of the corner of her eye, however, the thief didn't seem to recognize her. Lex walked over towards Servius, looking him up and down warily. The only person who didn't seem surprised was Sigrdríf, who seemed as natural as she had ever been. Servius smiled once to the group, but Lex wasn't amused. "General," he stated slowly, "It's good to see you."

Servius tossed a quick glance towards Lex, but then turned his eye expectantly towards Lady Flyte. "Ah, yes, always a pleasure," Servius said, disregarding Lex as he walked into the room a little more, and towards the lady. "I planned on visiting you at the Tiber Septim, but they said you were out. I'm glad I found you before it was too late."

Lady Flyte scowled. "Please, general," she said quickly, "I'm very busy at the moment. If you would be so kind as to—"

"Patience, dear Lynette," Servius said while waving his hand, causing the Breton to blush, "The business I'm here on is quite pressing, and it relates directly to you."

The lady maintained her scowl, but didn't object. Servius' smile deepened, much like a snake's before it is about to strike. "During my travels on campaign, I encountered many, many odd things," he began slowly, like a storyteller, "But near Lake Rumare, well, that might've been the most fascinating thing of the bunch. There have been… Rumors of a curious island in the lake in the middle of it, one that just appeared out of thin air. I'd chalk it up to fiction if it wasn't for the odd spike in corpses and crazies found washed up on the shore since then..."

Kirania glanced back at the Khajiit, who once more didn't return the look. Lady Flyte was still unamused. "Please, general, get to the point."

"Very well," Servius said, and snapped his finger. The Khajiit vanished outside. "On that shore, I found a young woman washed up, almost half dead. She had been through… Well, quite an ordeal. Normally, I would've worked through the proper channels for this, but this was just so fortuitous, I wanted to be the one to see the look on your face. Because you see, I recognized this young woman. And I believe you'll recognize her, too…"

The Khajiit returned, carrying in her arms a squirming Breton girl. Her hair was unkempt and wild, her clothes were apparently new but torn at, and her eyes flashed madly. She was making a stream of unintelligible noises, and the Khajiit could barely contain her. Lady Flyte leaned in to see who it was, and then suddenly her expression shattered like a pane of glass struck by a rock. Everyone in the room glanced at her suddenly as the lady gave a piercing shriek. "N-Nanette!!"

Servius nodded to the Khajiit, who tossed the girl on the ground, despite now looking uncomfortable about the whole affair. Lynette bolted over to the girl almost madly, tears shining in her eyes. "Nanette!" she cried out, "It's me! It's me! Lyn!"

The wild girl suddenly stopped moving. She slowly brought her eyes up to Lynette's. They made contact for a moment before the mad woman groaned. "No…!"

Lynette's face went pale. She tried to embrace the woman, but recoiled when her face was almost scratched by the mad one. Varnado and Julia Rufus broke out from the basement to discover what the commotion was all about, and saw a deeply satisfied smile on Servius face. Lynette was still trying to get through to the woman she believed to be her sister. "It's _me," _she croaked out again, "Your sister! Lyn!"

"No!" the girl hollered, scrambling away from Lynette, "I have _no _sister! I'm not a Flyte! I'm a Don! _Nanette Don!_"

The girl howled again and tried to bolt back toward Servius. The devastated Lynette reached out for her, grabbing the woman by the back of the dress. This didn't stop Nanette, however, and the already tattered clothing ripped in two from the stress. Shock spread throughout the entire room, even affecting Habasi. Lynette whipped her hand back and covered her mouth in panic. Her eyes were now almost as wild as the girl's, and she was shaking uncontrollably. Nanette's back was now fully exposed, and what was revealed made even the levelheaded Lex gag. The skin of her back had been twisted and warped—every inch of it was grotesquely deformed, by either deep, vicious scars or horrible burn marks. It seemed as though she had been horribly tortured for months by a being of pure sadism. The unspeakable wounds seemed to wrap around to the front of her as well, covering her body in a tapestry of mutilation. Lynette was openly weeping now, almost afraid to touch such disgusting and revolting flesh as she shook her head in abject hopelessness. "W-What have they done…" she sobbed.

Servius looked proudly upon his handiwork. "I am sorry that she's been through so much… I tried to comfort her as best I could…" he said looking down at Lynette. A moment later, though, he turned and left the store. Lex alone could make out a single, self-satisfied laugh escape his lips. It was short and easily missed, but it contained a horrible sort of joy, the reveling one takes in the suffering of others. Habasi, now fully disturbed, looked at the girls with an unnerved pity before she slowly leaved the room herself.

Lex walked toward the window and watched as Servius vanished into the crowd. He clenched his fist. Kirania tore herself away from the scene and hustled over to him. She looked up at the man, whose face was contorted with rage. "I have to beat him," Lex said clearly, but with a hereto unrevealed determination.

Kirania blinked once. "What?"

"I have to beat him," Lex responded, still looking outside in fury. "The way he took such pleasure from the suffering of others… I _can not _let such a man lead this nation."

Kirania looked up at Lex, uncertain how to reply. Varnado had instinctively pulled Julia close to himself, while the Imperial woman kept asking what exactly was going on. Sigrdríf seemed more surprised than disgusted, looking upon the event as though it was something she merely hadn't expected: a surprise, but not a shock. Maro looked upon both of the sisters Flyte with equal heartbreak, wringing his hand nervously. And at the center of it all, Nanette was screaming denials while Lynette Flyte tore at her hair and cursing her existence, her plaintive sobs echoing into the night.


	32. Lacerations

The Best Defense had closed for the night. Lex, Kirania, and Sigrdríf had left the store, which was still in emotional turmoil. Nanette Don had overexhausted herself in hysteria and passed out, lying in a makeshift bed in one corner of the room. Even in sleep her face was not at peace, still contorted in a terrible madness. Near Varnado's desk, Maro, Julia, and Varnado stood, but were not speaking. Across the room, near Maro's desk, Lynette Flyte was sitting on the ground, staring into space. Her eyes were still red, and her breathing not yet steady. Maro glanced at her occasionally. She never looked back. All he could hear was the sound of his own breath in the still room, and he lowered his eyes, remaining quiet. Julia tapped her foot. "This is ridiculous," she said under her breath, apparently more frustrated than distraught.

Varnado glanced towards her. "Really, this isn't the time—"

Julia shook her head and continued to speak. "Not the time? Are you stupid? This is _the_ time. That Lex character has what, two weeks? And the only person who knows how to make him succeed is wallowing over there."

"You couldn't see what they did to that girl's back," Varnado said, softly yet firmly, "I'm not the drama type, but even I know that it was…"

He trailed off, hoping that Julia would note the somber note in his voice and leave it at that. However, she didn't seem the least deterred. "So she was tortured? That's real sad, but last time I checked, the little girl over there has a _job _to do, and one that won't wait before her personal crisis is over."

"You're out of line," Varnado replied, his voice now sharper.

"For what?" Julia said, exasperated "For realizing that Flyte took Servius' bait in the _exact _way he intended for her to? The way she's blatantly playing into his hands with her weeping? Sure, maybe I _can't _see, but I still don't have sympathy for people who cast aside their pressing obligations just because their personal life gets a little rocky. Did Maro do this when he learned what happened to Grandma and me?" she finished, pointing to her sightless eyes.

Maro looked up. "Julia," he said gently.

His sister turned her head. He looked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you go home now. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

Julia frowned and opened her mouth to protest. She didn't say anything, though, and a moment later closed it with a small nod. "Fine," she said, turning around, "I'll see you later."

Maro looked over to Varnado. The two made eye contact, and Varnado nodded in comprehension. Without speaking a word, Varnado walked away to the staircase and went into his room, leaving Maro alone with the sisters Flyte. He turned around and walked slowly over to where Lynette was sitting. He lowered himself down next to her, but still not touching her. She didn't seem to recognize that he had come over and continued to look forward aimlessly. He gave her another glance before looking at the ground of the dark room. A few moments passed, then he heard something. He looked towards Lynette, and saw her lips moving silently. She started to tremble, made a gulping sound, and broke into tears again with a wail. "It's all my fault!" she cried out.

Maro reached out towards her, but she shook her head. She tried in vain to speak for a few moments until she could stop her tears. She grabbed her shoulders, shook her head madly, and then began to speak. "It was seven years ago," she began, speaking feverishly, as though she were confessing something, "I was still a stupid girl in my father's court. He was trying to rebuild Anticlere, which still bore the scars of the Warp, so many years after it had ended. He met with a powerful noble lord, who agreed to help fund his efforts to rebuild the nation under one condition. He wanted my sister as his bride.

"We all knew of this man. He was celebrated as one of the wealthiest people in the Iliac Bay. But equally well known as his fortunes were his… Appetites. He was a hedonist without peer, and actually had a shrine to Sanguine in his palace… Debauchery was his favorite pastime, and especially causing… Pain," she said, annunciating the word very clearly. "Sometimes, his mistresses would mysteriously vanish, with only the blackest of rumors to suggest what sorts of unspeakable rituals they went through to satisfy this man's desires…"

She stopped speaking, trying to compose herself. "… My sister, when she heard this… Accepted this. She told me that it was our duty to accept this new marriage. That father was depending on her. That the money father could obtain would make the family strong… She was completely willing to sacrifice herself for Anticlere. She _knew _what that man was going to do to her, she _knew _what would happen if she were to wed him. And you know what? I _respected _her for it!"

Lynette burst into tears again and threw herself onto Maro's shoulder. Maro's eyes widened in surprise, but he wrapped an arm around the crying, broken woman, trying to comfort her somehow. Through the tears, Lynette still spoke, as though it were necessary to her very being that she do so. "She was so calm up to the wedding, doing everything a bride-to-be should do! It was as though she were actually _happy! _There was never any concern on her face, never any worry! And I took comfort from that and never dwelled on what she was going to have to do… Oh, Maro, I was such a fool!

"The night before the wedding I was in my room, combing my hair… Nanette entered, looking more disturbed than I had ever seen her before. She explained half-mad that she couldn't go through with it, that she couldn't marry this man. She told me how much she _despised _him, and how much she _feared _him, almost to the point of tears… We talked so much, Maro—she was my one and only friend, and I was the person she confided in more than anyone else. And do you know what I said, Maro?" she said, now looking at him with shimmering eyes.

"I told her to go through with it. I told her to marry him. I told her how much the family was counting on her, how Anticlere was counting on her… That wasn't the answer that she wanted to hear. Before I could say anything else, she bolted from my room. I was about to chase her, but… I went to bed. I figured that she would turn up tomorrow, as she always had: the perfect daughter. She didn't. She vanished that night. Father began a large search of the country, and hired the best diviners to find her location. It was no use. She had vanished without a trace. My sister… The only person I had in the whole world…" she whispered, almost breaking into tears again.

"I went to my father soon after. I told him… I told him that I wanted to go out and look for Nanette on my own. I told him that I loved my sister dearly, and was so worried about her… So worried… I could barely eat or sleep—she was my sister, Maro! And my father, he looked down at me with those eyes of his and told me… No. He said that I couldn't be gone so long… That I needed to be trained to be his eyes, that mother was plotting against him and he couldn't focus on anything else... And the worst part is that I accepted it," she ended, almost with a hiss.

She looked back up to Maro, with desperation in her eyes. "You were right, all those nights ago, you know that? I should've looked for her. But I played the role of a dutiful daughter, I just did what would make the family better and stronger. And after all that, look what has happened to my sister! It's all my fault, Maro! Nanette doesn't even recognize who I am—what have I done!?"

Maro shook his head and pulled Lynette close to himself, "Don't do this to yourself," he said, with a voice both uncertain of what to do yet oddly determined—a voice that perhaps only Maro could muster, "This isn't your fault, and there's still time to make things right!"

"Impossible!" Lynette croaked, "It's impossible, it's…!"

She suddenly jolted away. She looked at Maro, and quickly bore a smile. It seemed more maddened than anything else. "Away," she said, with an insane passion, "I need to go away, with Nanette, now. And you can come with me!"

Maro leaned back in surprise. "W-What do you mean," he stammered, looking honestly worried.

Lynette grabbed his hands tightly. "I'm going to run away, away from here. I'll run away with Nanette, and with you, of course! We'll go together, and we'll go right now!"

Maro shook his head slowly, his eyes disbelieving. "But… No, we can't," he managed, "No, don't be silly. We gave Imperator Lex our word. We can't abandon him."

"Lex? Forget Lex! I don't care about him, that's all business. And business is what turned my sister into… _that,_" she said glancing over her shoulder. She squeezed Maro's hands tighter. "I'm leaving it behind. It's given me absolutely nothing. But we'll go off together, watching over her of course… I still have so much money we can live off."

"But your father—"

"Let him rot!" Lynette laughed.

Maro's eyes were almost fearful. "You can't be serious," he said, his voice ringing with an injured sincerity "We gave our word to him."

Lynette looked at him in equal disbelief. "Why are you saying that? What does it matter? He doesn't even know your name, forget him!"

He pulled his hands out from Lynette's. She gasped. "I gave him my word. I take that seriously: I can't just up and leave like that."

"Why not?" Lynette asked, her voice now almost pained.

"Because it's my name!" Maro said, standing upright, "And even if nobody else takes it seriously, _I _do. I do what's right, and I'm not going to shame it."

Lynette stood in turn. "Oh no," she said quickly, desperately trying to remedy the situation, "You need to come, Maro. You absolutely _need _to."

Maro started to move towards the stair, "You don't need me to help. I'm sure there are lots of people who'd help you with your sister."

"No, you don't understand," Lynette cried out, seizing his hand again, "I don't need help with her, but you _need _to come with me. I _can't _go without you."

"I can't," Maro insisted, his voice as quivering as Lynette's.

"You _must. _Maro, don't you understand? I've been so _vulnerable _in front of you, you and no one else. I can't—"

"I'll never tell anyone," Maro said, "Not a soul!"

Lynette hung her head. "It's not that. You're the only one I have, Maro. You and _no one _else. I can't leave without you, I'll just go mad! I can't carry on like I have been, don't you see?"

Maro stopped moving towards the door and turned around. He looked Lynette in the eyes. She was openly pleading and totally unguarded. His heart was racing. He opened his mouth and looked over her face, brimming with hope and fear. "I…" he started, almost unable to form any words. "I'm sorry."

Lynette's face contorted in shocked despair. "No…"

Maro turned and ascended the stairs. He slipped into his room and closed his door. The sound of the slam broke into the night like an explosion. Lynette's legs became weak as tears started to flow down her face. She fell to her knees. Things couldn't've gone so wrong so quickly. It was impossible. When she came to this City, her worst-case scenarios didn't remotely contain what was happening here. What could she do? She didn't even know that.

The problem with having your life assembled is that it's impossible to repair once it breaks down.

---

The darkness was palpable. Erasmus Servius had always moved in a world of darkness ever since _that_ day, but this evening was special. His room was pitch black, so dense that it almost felt weighty on his shoulders. The only light in the room was a single candle placed on his desk, flickering meekly in an attempt to penetrate the gloom. It barely illuminated half of Servius' face, which looked even more jagged and angular as the shadows from his scars enveloped his features. Across from him was another visage, barely discernable in the darkness. Its feline features belonged to Habasi, her face stormy and judgmental. She looked at the man with a newfound loathing—his expression remained most neutral.

"You are a horrible person," she said slowly, each word grave.

She made out Servius' mouth, almost undetectable in this darkest darkness, break into a ghost of a smile. "Spare me."

He slowly stood up and picked up the candle, causing Habasi to wink out of existence. "I would've thought that you, as a thief, would understand my motives better than most. But Christophe certainly picked a queer one. Stacey's men are all alike—too moralistic."

Habasi stood, her face reappearing. "Do you think that this one is some blind newborn? She is driven by profit, nothing else."

Servius started walking away. "As am I."

The Khajiit started to move in pursuit. "No. Habasi does what she does for herself, merely business. You, though, you do what you do for something else: something gnawing at your soul, causing you to strike others in wickedness."

"Hardly." Servius stopped and turned back to face Habasi. "My motives are grander than simple revenge. Once again, Christophe's selection disappoints me. I hoped you could realize this on your own."

Habasi snarled at him. "Whatever your reasons may be, you delight in the suffering of others, just like the Tong did! It is not business, only cruelty. She should leave you now, and never return."

Servius remained silent for a moment, gauging her reaction, and then sneered. "But you can't do that, can you?" he said slowly, "Ah, I see, you've been forced to accompany me: that's why you're so bristly. I suppose I've been somewhat blind as well. It must be frustrating, aiding someone that you hate."

She said nothing in reply. Servius turned and started walking to the wall again. "Just because I seek something great doesn't mean that I need to swear off the baser pleasures in life, such as revenge. There are people, children and fools mostly, who think that to be some great hero it is necessary to be so morally pure. I know better. Whatever a 'hero' is, he isn't infallible. He enjoys pleasure. I am no different."

Habasi still was snarling, her teeth bared in a feline rage. "Such grand parallels for yourself sound arrogant to her ears."

"My high expectations compel me to exceed them," quipped Servius, stopping in front of a candelabrum. "I fully expect that I'm going to succeed against my rivals, I've prepared contingencies in case I don't, so why not be arrogant? I deserve it."

"_Deserve _such vice?"

Servius sighed. "Yes, I do. Perhaps I need to explain this in a way you'll understand. Imagine, for a moment, a little child who has done some tedious chore—chopped firewood, for example. His mother gives him a sweet for doing such a task as a reward, fully knowing that the sweet is harmful for the child. It's the same concept, only increased. I've done an exceedingly good job in managing my affairs, thus I deserve to be arrogant. The only people who would judge me are the sickeningly self-righteous or the failures jealous of my success."

Habasi nearly recoiled: he had apparently hit a very sensitive nerve. He lit the first candle. The room was still almost as dark as it had been beforehand. "The mind of a child is actually quite a bit like the mind of an adult. Both are driven solely by what they want, only adults hide it away, behind flowery ideals or silken words to mask their true, base desires. Why do that? I, for one, want revenge. I want it dearly. There are some who would say that it's a petty desire, but to hell with them. They can't understand. If _I _want revenge, that's good enough for me, nothing else matters."

"So then why go to all this," Habasi replied, almost mocking in tone, but there was a hint of curiosity in her voice. "If you want revenge, then why become emperor?"

Servius lit the second candle. The glow they put off together started to illuminate the room a little more, if only by a fraction. "Because I don't deserve it yet. Revenge in and of itself is fruitless. I could conceivably kill the Flyte family tomorrow, but if I do so, I've really contributed nothing to the world. The problem with desires is that if we merely pursue our pleasures and nothing else, civilization collapses and barbarism reigns until we're all dead. You can see this on a smaller scale in the drunkard, who gives into his every whim until he falls into nothingness. He has been utterly consumed by his desires. Contrast this to a well-to-do gentleman who goes about his business during the day and gets just as drunk as the lesser man every night: their true goals are the same, but the gentleman has produced something of worth, and so society doesn't judge him."

He lit the third candle, and now his face could be made out in more detail. He closed his eye and moved his head so that he would've been looking up. "When I first entered the Marsh, I was so frightened, as I should've been. Death was around every turn. To allay myself, I would examine the plant life in meticulous detail, trying to transform the dread of death into science. And I realized something so beautiful… The balance of nature is far more sublime than anything man or mer has built. The rules are simple. If a plant or beast is ideal for its surroundings, it survives and thrives. If it is weak, it dies. The concept seems so simple, and yet we as people have forgotten that even in nature worth is rewarded. The weak who cannot survive do not receive the rewards that the strong enjoy. I often wish that men would remember such a lesson."

He opened his eye and lit the fourth candle. His shoulders, strong and proud, emerged from the darkness. His face was dour. "Revenge is all I live for. It is _all _that I desire. When I first realized that, I was quite sad. I had such dreams as a young man, and they've all extinguished themselves. But as I grew older and wiser and craftier… I learned that it doesn't matter if revenge is the only thing I want. It is the ultimate reward for me, nothing I can do will change that fact, so why judge myself? But that discovery, well, it was problematic. When I achieve such a revenge, I'll probably fall down and die. So be it, so be it… I care not. Regardless, the destruction of the Flyte family will be the capstone of my life, and thus when it is achieved I will have no purpose. It is, quite literally, my ultimate goal."

Servius lit the fifth candle with a sudden burst of aggression. His torso, brimming with strength, was now visible. "I am an exceptional man. I know this innately, and I also know what I am capable of. The character of my desire is meaningless, but what I do to deserve it is not. Does a mighty mountain lion, nature's perfect killer, take pride in killing a hare? Of course not. Similarly, if I had my actions to deserve my revenge be anything short of exceptional, I would feel base. As though I had cheated the world to get what I wanted. I am capable of shaking this continent to its very foundations, and so I will _do so. _Anything else would be an insult to my potential. While I was stewing over what to do, I heard of these recommendations for Emperor… And suddenly, the path was very clear."

He lit the sixth candle and turned to Habasi, who had remained as silent as the grave for all of this. With his back to the light, his features plunged back into obscurity, although he was clearly outlined by light. "The Empire is going to die soon. Like a wounded beast it trudges on, trying to stave off the inevitable, but it's only a matter of time. It's really too bad: the institution is so monolithic to the point where that sole feature demands respect. The collapse of the Empire would mean the end of Tamriel as we know it as it is thrown backwards into an age of chaos and destruction. Such a state is almost resemblant of men pursuing their desires without worth, isn't it? Upon reflection, I realized that this was the greatest challenge of our day, and therefore was the only challenge that would satisfy me—I would save the Empire."

Habasi blinked once in surprise. "You actually care about the wellbeing of the Empire"

"Not in the least. I suppose, at one point, I would've been happy merely destroying the Empire, but to do that at this point would be to murder a cripple. No, saving the Empire would be a true test of my skill. And what a time to do it! Look who I face: at one side, that worm Helseth. I despise him. He has accomplished nothing. He rides the wealth of his family, using it like a crutch. Despite his gifts, he has built nothing: his Morrowind has burned to the ground. The only thing he can do is satisfy his desires, and so he does _not _deserve the opportunity to lead the Empire, I won't allow it! And Lex, well, I despise him just as much as I hate Helseth. He chases after some fairy-tale Gray Fox, something that doesn't even exist, creating buttresses of duty and obligation so that he can lick his wounds after failure upon failure. Unlike Helseth, he _does _have the ability to do things of worth, but he does so with a desire that literally doesn't exist. Like an ant he builds for no reason, and without a proper reward, doing things of worth is meaningless and a waste of a life. That Dwemer machine! I'll not allow such a soulless man to take this opportunity either—it is _mine!_"

Servius turned about and started to light all the candles quickly, as though he himself were being possessed by some force. The seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth—the room started to glow more and more as Servius' light grew and grew. He began speaking faster and faster: it seemed for a moment hat his voice was not even his own. "Understand, Habasi, that you cannot judge me, and I don't mean that in some moralistic standpoint! I mean it _literally_, for it is _impossible _to judge. Worth is the _only _benchmark for anything in this world. Did you kill some slave trader? Very well and good, you deserve accolades. Are you a slave trader yourself, and have made a fortune? Just as good—the scale of the action is what matters, not the 'morality'." He turned and looked her in the eyes, his own blazing like the sun. "So do not judge me! Do not become so artificially angry when I take delight in the mental anguish of that stupid Flyte girl, because I _deserve _it. And when I have become emperor, when I do the impossible and pull this decaying Empire back on its feet—something Lex and Helseth are utterly incapable of—you'll not judge me when I kill the entire Flyte family, and claim their future like they claimed mine. How could you? I saved the Empire! Can you forgive a normally well-behaved child for a small prank? Can you forgive a respectable merchant for cheating just once on his wife? Can you blame a hero for striking down one to save hundreds? No! And you can't judge me, either, because I'll have saved the Empire, the _ultimate _act of worth!"

Habasi stepped forward, she too seized by energy. "You're wrong! Such examples are of normally good people: you, though, are entirely selfish and evil!"

"Evil?" Servius laughed, "Fine, so be it! Selfish? Well, I applaud that! Being evil and selfish means nothing in the end. Tiber Septim was no saint, perhaps a scoundrel as wicked as myself, and yet he is venerated a _god. _That's why I like the Daedra— 'good', 'evil': they're wise enough to realize only that their power and worth matters. The average man, like yourself at the moment, can't understand this and desperately creates fictions like the 'Divines' to keep himself comforted, in order to keep his own shameful knowledge of his weakness and ineptitude at bay. The world might be nicer if such fictions were true, but it _is not so. _At first, you'll be like I was when I first realized this, you'll hate the idea the world works this way and try to make little explanations, little reasons why it could possibly be so. But if you know the _truth, _all these little slights will do nothing to make you feel any better, and the cold hand of truth will press upon you so hard that you'll pray and weep for it to stop! And then you'll have two choices, to either lie to yourself, _with full knowledge of your lie_, for the rest of your life, or make the terrible leap to the cold, unhappy world of the truth. And when all good, evil, right, and wrong has been swept into the sea you'll realize that Worth, and _only _Worth is what matters in the world. Everything else is an illusion!"

The light was bright now, or perhaps it wasn't, yet it still shone like the daybreak sun coming up over the horizon, chasing off the shadows of the night. Erasmus Servius was fully visible in his totality, his darkness had been purged. Across from him, Habasi looked amazed and horrified at once. She shook her head wildly. "You're… You're mad!"

"Insults? Hah! You already see where you are, retreating back into the desperation of _lies. _But I think you'll do after all. I need someone with me, someone who _knows _what I know. I need someone strong enough to walk this path with me, because I'd like to know what it's like to have companionship. Does this seem odd to you? So forward? Well, let it! I'm no slave to society, I am _above _society, and my relationships all reflect that! Come with me, Habasi, at my side," he said extending his hand, the light behind him now blinding.

Habasi's mind was firing in all directions. Everything she wanted to believe was telling her to move away, to leave that man behind, to run away, damn the sugar, and go somewhere far, far away. To a place where she felt less threatened, to her halcyon youth where everything was vibrant and comfortable and clear… An almost instinctual urge to flee grasped at her mind.

And like a stag too stupefied to run, she felt herself take a step forward as everything she knew, all her experiences in life, started to whisper dark words into her ear, that this man, this _horrible _man, was right. Her hand twitched once as she almost felt it raise, but she forced it down, fighting her subconscious. To move forward or to retreat, to walk Servius' path or to flee, to remain true to the ideals at the core of her being or to allow that un-evil chunk of her mind to grow and flourish like the jungle—a war like none other was fighting, and the battlefield was the scarred depths of her soul.

The terrible conflict raged in her head, but there was one thing she was certain about. She had been so wrong about her impressions on Servius. She had thought him to be some shadowy creature, but truly that was the antithesis of the man. The man was radiant. The man was brilliant. The man was a torch like Tamriel had never seen before, or would ever see again. Servius was brighter than anyone else, far brighter than she could've imagined possible. Truly, Servius was blazing—blazing forever, in his blazing world!


	33. Fresh Snow, Dark Places

An unlikely pair of men stood in the small alleyway behind The Best Defense. One was the imperator who had the weight of the world on his shoulders, the other a shopkeep whose greatest foe was his quickly dwindling savings. The two weren't speaking, because today was a special event. For the first time in recent memory, it was snowing in the Imperial City, an area usually far too warm to get even the smallest flurry. Maro Rufus held out his hand and watched the snow pile onto his open palm. He turned his hand over and let the pile fall onto the ground. "I can only remember one other time when it snowed like this," he said, still looking down, "I must've been… Gee, eleven? I was with my gran, and she pointed it out to me. 'Maro,' she said, 'Keep in mind that the snow is like the soul. It comes down pure, but gets filthy quick. Better you melt away while you're still pure than stick around soiled.'"

Imperator Lex glanced over to the shopkeep, not really sure what would be an appropriate response to such a statement. "She seemed like… Quite the old woman."

"You have no idea," Maro replied with a small laugh, "She was a difficult person to have to be around for so long—drove me crazy. But she acted like a parent to Julia and me, and you've got to be fond of your parents…"

He trailed off. Lex looked back to the sky, almost impossible to see behind the shifting curtain of softly falling snow. "Do you know when Lady Flyte is going to return?"

Maro bit his lip. "She'll be here soon," he said, "I know she will." His voice was less than certain.

"I hope so," Lex replied, "Because if not, we'll have to start without her. I'm not sure what we'll do, come that scenario."

The younger man didn't reply. He looked unusually thoughtful, as though something important was on his mind and he was trying to work through it. He looked up towards Lex a couple of times before turning his attention back to the ground. It wasn't too long before he mustered up the courage to speak his mind. "Imperator, can I ask you something?"

Lex silently looked over to Maro. The younger man took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. "Do… Do you know what it's like to need money?"

The imperator nodded slowly. "More or less. I didn't come from extravagant means."

Maro's eyes brightened, if only a little. "Right! Then you'll know what I'm getting at. So, let's just say that you needed money, and you did a job to get it. The job itself is _entirely _honest, but the source of the money is…" he mumbled, looking for the right word, "Well, maybe it's a little less honest…"

Lex turned his body towards Maro's, as his attention had been caught. "Criminal, you mean?"

"Well, maybe…"

"Then there's no question," Lex said, shaking his head severely, "You can't accept it. Accepting money from criminals makes one morally culpable. It's that sort of mindset that allows criminals to flourish. If members of society see themselves as indirect agents to crime, they can sleep easy. If people didn't think this way, the Waterfront would be a safe place to live."

Maro looked at the ground in obvious disappointment, although his expression really wasn't that surprised. Before anything else could be said, the two heard a sound coming from down the alleyway. Sigrdríf Battle-Singer rounded a corner and waved to the two, walking towards them through the snow. "Mr. Rufus," she called out, the strength of her voice causing the gently falling flakes to change direction in mid-air, "Lady Flyte has arrived."

Maro blinked in astonishment. "Wait, _really_?"

Lex raised his brows in slight surprise as well. The young man's mood certainly had swung around swiftly. The general nodded to Maro. "She just entered the shop a few moments ago."

Without wasting another word, Maro ran off, almost stumbling through the piling snow. Sigrdríf smiled softly as she watched the young man run off. "Curious," she said as Maro vanished from sight, "It's hard to believe that the Lady Flyte is in any condition to be working after what happened yesterday," she said, twirling a lock of her hair. "Only a Breton, eh?"

Lex took a step forward, away from the wall he was standing near and closer to the path to the store. "She's made of tougher stuff than we assumed. Shall we?"

Sigrdríf looked at Lex for a moment, and then broke into a trilling laugh. "Imperator, she's not ready to speak yet. I doubt she even got any sleep last night. We'll likely not be needed for a few minutes."

"Better to be early than late," Lex replied.

The Nord woman gave a somewhat bemused sigh. "Always off to do your duty with you. Can't you take a moment off and enjoy life? You know, if you succeed in all this, you'll have precious little time to enjoy quiet mornings like these. A few minutes won't kill you."

"I've already spent some of those minutes standing here," Lex said, "Wasting time isn't something that I enjoy."

"It's not wasting time," Sigrdríf said, taking a few steps forward, "Think of it as… Investing time. We're not going to be young for much longer—there are some like Kirania who are even younger than us now. Standing under such a lovely snow is a memory that I'll cherish when I'm old. Don't you want to have such memories?"

"I'm not unfeeling," Lex said with a thin smile, "I have several of them. My promotion to captain, for example. Or when I jailed a certain Thieves' Guild kingpin. Or receiving this armor I wear from Phillida himself—"

Sigrdríf shook her head, still amused. "Don't you have any memories of events that don't directly relate to your career as a guardsman?"

"Of course I do. I had a childhood."

Sigrdríf leaned forward. "Oh? Then let's have a little trade. You tell me a little memory of your youth, and I'll give you one from mine."

Lex frowned. "That sounds rather silly, especially when there is work to be done."

"Just humor me," Sigrdríf replied, giving Lex a glimmering smile.

The imperator sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "When I was younger," he began with great reluctance, "My favorite hobby was to take scraps of parchment or paper and to fold them into little birds, which I would throw around Bravil. My friends and I would often have competitions to see whose bird could fly the farthest. Will that suffice?" he said, giving the Nord woman a very unamused look.

Sigrdríf's smile grew. "See? Now that wasn't so bad. Honestly, you're the oddest fellow I've ever met—I don't think I've ever known someone I've spent so much time with, but know so little about. Are you like this with everyone?" she finished, almost playfully.

Lex sighed. "Are we through?"

The Nord shook her head. "I haven't told you my memory yet. Now pay attention," she said, giving him a look that was almost serious for a split-second, "Because this is rather important, and maybe even relevant. Years ago, when I was quite younger, I used the sword almost exclusively. I thought that the blade was the only weapon worth using, so I trained with it, and only it, every day. My father, noting this, took me aside on morning and led me away from the garrison. After a bit of a trek, we arrived at a large glacier, a true wall of brilliantly blue ice. He told me that I needed to cause a large crack right through the center of it if I wanted to continue my training. That didn't seem too bad, so I struck it with my sword: you can guess what happened. The blade I was so skilled with bounced right off, without causing so much as a dent in the ice. Can you guess what I did next?" she added, still almost teasing.

Lex shrugged. "Did you hit it again with the sword?" he asked, as far from intrigued as he could get.

Sigrdríf smiled and broke into another happy laugh. "Of course not! I'm not a fool, imperator! I know when something won't work, and it's no use to keep on doing something if it's completely inefficient. I switched weapons, right then and there. I picked up a large mace from the armory and went to work on the wall of ice. I smacked it time and time again. I struck it until my arms were weak and my hands sore. When evening came around, I skipped my dinner and kept striking. As the sun was setting that night, I looked upon my handiwork. I realized that the glacier still hadn't cracked and all my efforts were in vain! I glacier hadn't changed at all, and I spent the whole day trying to break something that simply wasn't going to crack!"

She finished the story with another bemused smile. Lex didn't say anything for a few moments, then frowned slightly. "… That was relevant?"

The Nord sighed. It didn't seem that exasperated, but then again, it didn't seem quite as happy as before. "Very much so."

Before Lex could respond, the two heard a voice calling out the imperator's name. They looked down the alleyway and saw Kirania round the bend, looking for her superior. She smiled when she caught sight of Lex, but upon noticing that Sigrdríf was present became moody. "Imperator," she called out, "We're waiting on you!"

"Waiting on me…?" Lex mouthed in confusion. He glanced to Sigrdríf, but she had already turned around and was walking away from him without another word. Kirania, too, was less than pleased, with her hands on her hips and a pout on her face. Lex began to walk forward, not really excited himself. He noted that despite the numerous plots of kings and generals against him, despite the myriad conspiracies designed to ruin him, the only thing in the world that was really unintelligible was the actions of women.

* * *

They said that the cantons of Vivec were some of the most majestic buildings ever created. These large structures stood like mountains in the blue waters of Morrowind, bridged together to make the only true metropolis on the island of Vvardenfel. Pilgrims would give anything to walk here, this holiest of cities where Vivec himself had stopped the moon. To almost anyone, a trip to Vivec was an incredible, memorable experience.

Not to Habasi Nine-Lives. She hated these cantons. She hated this island. She hated Morrowind. She had changed over these last two weeks. Physically, she was no longer the kitten she once was—her body bore the rigors and weariness of going off very little sleep, but simultaneously was still being driven by a fatalistic, maddened determination. Mentally, her previous life had ended. Her thoughts of advancement and prestige in her field had shifted to simply surviving in her career. Her eagerness to pull off larger and larger heists had given way to finding the smallest targets possible, lest the guild do something about her rogue activities. And her feelings for _that man… _Once so tender, now…

_Traitor._

The word had been burned into her mind. Awake, asleep—she couldn't escape it, and part of her never wanted to. _He, _who she had trusted so much, trusted so _fully_, did this to her. _He, _along with that damnable _S_'Krivva were gloating over their new doyenships, while she looked out over this horrible land, where the natives despised her and her kinsmen were in shackles. _He _had lied to her the entire way, stabbing her in the back when his trust really mattered. _He _who even toyed with her heart like she meant nothing…

_Traitor._

She was so engrossed in her own world, she hardly noticed when a man gracefully walked over and stood next to her, looking over the same vista. He was a well-dressed Redguard, much older than her and yet far less world-weary. He glanced at the Khajiit with a small, understanding smile. "So, it seems like you got my letter after all."

Habasi didn't acknowledge his presence. The man maintained his smile as he looked over Vivec. "It's quite the city, isn't it?"

The Khajiit deepened her scowl. "It disgusts Habasi."

The man gave a small, benevolent laugh. "Well, that is a response I rarely get."

The laugh was not appreciated. "Who are you," Habasi growled, baring her teeth at him, "And what do you want with her?"

"Gentleman Jim Stacey, at you service," the Redguard said with an elegant bow.

Habasi scoffed and looked out over the water. "Gentleman? Laughable. There are no gentlemen in this world, and those who call themselves so are despicable."

Jim Stacey looked her over once. "And that is also a response I rarely get."

The thief's eyes flickered once as fatigue temporarily overtook her hatred. "So what do you do?" she asked, "Murder and thug? Or do you spread sugar and need her advice? She no longer cares: nothing is below her."

"I can't say I do those things in particular," Jim Stacey responded. "In actuality, I'm putting a group together here… A group for people of my similar vocation. I called you here because I had a feeling that you'd be an excellent member."

Habasi looked at Jim Stacey. A moment passed as she realized what he wanted, and then she laughed. "You are a fool! This one was cast out from the _real _Thieves' Guild for stealing from fellow thieves!"

"I know," Jim Stacey said with a gentle smile, "But I don't believe you were the one who actually did it."

The Khajiit was taken aback. "You know…?"

"Listen, I've been around the block more than once, and I've realized that when thieves operate under the sole aim of turning a profit, they do horrible things to each other," he said slowly, putting his hands behind his back, "And quite frankly, that is a sorry way to live. We're nothing more than mud here on Mundus, trying desperately to enact great plots which to the truly enlightened are nothing more than the labors of ants, eternally scurrying with such fervor to accomplish so little. I've come to accept that we only find true meaning when we cast aside our ego and work for the good of the collective. Do you follow my argument?" he finished, giving Habasi another understanding smile.

Habasi sneered again. "You're naïve."

"It doesn't surprise me that you'd say that. You, after all, have been hurt like few others. That is in part why I have such interest in your case. If I can convince someone as sour as you that life is worth living if it helps others, surely I can do so to anyone."

He turned around. "You can find me in the bookstore when you're ready to join me. Also, I'd advise against dwelling on whatever happened to you so much. It's not good for your soul."

He left, leaving Habasi alone. She looked over the cantons for another moment before bitterly spitting into the sea. He was some idiot who didn't realize anything, some fool who like herself had drawn lucky cards but didn't know what it was like to come up short. She suddenly hated him deeply, perhaps even more than she hated _him._ 'He knows nothing,' she brooded as she walked away, 'He does not yet understand...'

* * *

King Helseth Hlaalu entered the conference room of Fort Nikel confidently. The two armed men at his side were both very wary—to be this far into Erasmus Servius' domain seemed like a trap in the making, and there was no one more dangerous than the Man from Argonia to set the snare. Helseth had no time for such fears. He was in control here, and there was no way he would let some brutish general intimidate him.

He had a scroll of Divine Intervention on him too, just in case.

The room was in stark contrast to the humid depths of the fort: it was orderly and well taken care of. Simple yet respectable furniture was arranged here, the most striking of which was a long table which had a few chairs arranged at either end of it. Servius was sitting here, waiting for his royal guest. At his right hand was a Khajiit, who gave Helseth a suspicious glance. Upon noticing Helseth's arrival, Servius stood. "King Helseth," he said, extending his arms in welcome, "It is truly a pleasure to receive you."

'That's unlike him', Helseth thought as he walked into the room, 'Maybe Delitian was right about this after all…'

Servius gesture to a seat across from himself. "Please, sit."

Helseth regally lowered himself into the chair provided for him and looked across the table. Servius' armor was as it always was—scratched, beaten, and sprinkled with a rare tribalistic marking. If it was anyone else, Helseth would've figured they were either blindingly arrogant or extraordinarily foolish. Servius was neither. "I thank you," Helseth said, staring him down with a gaze perfected over the course of a hundred negotiations, "You told me that you had a proposal for me, and I must admit that I am intrigued."

Servius' mouth flickered into a small, almost unnoticeable grin. "As you should be. Yes, I do have a proposition for you, one that I feel is mutually beneficial for us."

The general folded his hands. He spent a long moment in silence before he spoke. Helseth couldn't tell what he was up to. Normally he would assume that this was some odd, ill-thought out tactic to build up anticipation, but Servius almost looked like he was savoring the moment. At last he spoke, clearly and confidently. "I believe that you should have Prince Goranthir revoke his attempt to become emperor."

A moment passed. Helseth raised his brows in surprise. "You want for me… To tell my endorsee to stop his campaign. Is that what you're telling me?"

Servius nodded. "That is it precisely."

Now Helseth was the one to smile. "I see. A very compelling argument. Now tell me, why would I be so eager to withdraw the young man I've spent the last half-year grooming to become emperor?"

"I had assumed that you'd ask that," Servius replied, leaning back slightly, "And my reasoning is simple, really: just a little blackmail."

Helseth's expression darkened, but didn't falter. "Explain yourself."

Servius' widened his eye slightly, but his face remained neutral. "I've been looking into your past quite a bit, your lordship," he began idly, as though he were discussing some trivial matter, "And the more I research, the more corpses I exhume from it. There is evidence connecting you to multiple murders, in both Morrowind and the Iliac Bay. This, of course, isn't really a large surprise—everyone knows that you're an avid poisoner. I've read _A Game at Dinner; _it was quite audacious of you to so eagerly embrace your bloody past like that, by the way"

Yet another silent moment passed. Servius was gauging Helseth closely. If anything, the prince looked almost relieved that this matter simply regarded murder. The Dunmer lord smiled slightly before leaning in. "Perhaps this may surprise you, General Servius, but you are not the first man to try to examine my previous ventures. However, each and every one of these came to a similar, inconclusive end. I think you'll find that there is little proof that you can muster to prove these… Unprecedented claims regarding my honor."

The general didn't seem concerned. "Well, I will admit, evidence was more lacking than I would've hoped for. You've covered your tracks well, and for that I commend you. However, you did become a little too cocky at the end, Lord Helseth," he said, still next to casual, "I am talking, of course, about the death of your predecessor, the late King Llethran."

Helseth again become more reserved. Servius' lazy smile slithered back onto his face. "King Llethran's death had always seemed to involve you somehow, sire. The papers knew it, and that's why you shut them up. People spoke about it, but they grew tired of that gossip, in time. The whole event sort of dissolved out of the public sphere. But you killed Llethran, didn't you? That's the _truth _of the matter, and not amount of lies can really ever entirely eliminate the truth, no matter what cynics like yourself believe. The only for me issue was finding the documents that proved your guilt, which normally would've been quite difficult, although…"

Suddenly, the normally cool and composed Helseth felt icy fear grasp at him. 'Mournholde!' he thought desperately, 'I left everything back there! Servius must've…!'

Before he could finish his thought, Servius produced an all-too-familiar book and set it on the table. "A personal log of yours, I take it? It seems to record your actions and thoughts from the time you left High Rock to the early portion of your reign. It was really stupid of you to keep it extant like this, but it must've been impossible to secure when you had to flee from the capital as you did. Needless to say, you must've hoped that it would've been looted or burned during the sacking of the palace. Unfortunately for you, Sala rounded up everything he could regarding yourself, apparently so he could make some list of grievances against you. When I went through his chambers, I found this little book, already marked to the page where you lay out your plan in painstaking detail. This little book is the elusive proof that you killed King Llehtran. I have in my very hands that which you wanted to conceal for so very long. Behold," he finished softly, yet with the relish of self-satisfaction, "The truth has been revealed."

Another long, difficultly silent minute passed. Helseth stared at Servius with a powerful, intense hatred. Servius responded with his eye gleaming with unshakable, victorious pride. As for the others in the room, the Khajiit's expression hadn't changed over the course of the meeting, remaining calm and unsurprised at every turn. Of the two guards, one seemed slightly concerned, the other totally unreadable. "I suppose," Helseth said eventually, "That you intend to sully my name with such information."

Serivus, for the first time, looked honestly surprised. "Your _name_?" the repeated with a patronizing smile. "Do you honestly think that I'm playing for such low stakes? Sire, I'm not threatening your name, I'm threatening your life."

Helseth instinctively pushed his chair back as both guards moved to interpose themselves in front of Servius. The general shook his head, his smile never leaving his face. "I'm not going to kill you yet: please, relax. But if I do so, I'm simply doing my duty. Think, King Helseth. When Morrowind was retaken, martial law was established in the province by Commander Civello. The legion is now acting there with more authority than any other body save the Elder Council itself—and therefore I have more authority than yourself when it comes to executing the laws of the state. This places you in a horrible position—were I some judge, you could surely pay me off. This will not happen. I have full knowledge that you have committed murder on no less than five separate occasions, which warrants a death penalty. It is my duty and obligation to see that through. If I were a totally honest man, there is no way that you would leave Fort Nikel alive."

He lazily leaned back in his chair. "Luckily for you, I'm not exactly an honest man."

Everyone on Helseth's side of the room was tense and on guard, Servius and his companion were both still professionally calm. Servius allowed his previous words to sink in a little more before he moved to strike the final blow. "I have two documents here with me, Lord Helseth. The first is a writ of execution for yourself, regarding the incidents I've already laid out. It's really not that much a problem for me to sign it right now: while I'll admit it's a bit unorthodox a general to kill a king like this, I can assure you the law is very much on my side. But this isn't the only scenario. I also took the liberty to draw up some papers regarding young Goranthir's candidacy," he said, nodding for a soldier to enter the room bearing the documents, "Specifically his withdrawal. It needs your seal and signature. Once completed, you'll hand it to me, and I'll personally deliver them to Ocato himself. In exchange, I won't sign the execution writ. I think this is a very fair proposal, wouldn't you agree?"

Helseth balled his fist, trying to think frantically of a way out of this mess. Servius' wouldn't allow him that luxury. "I wouldn't spend too long thinking, if I were you," he said, slowly taking the writ from the Argonian.

The king closed his eyes. There had to be some way out of this, but he didn't have enough time. It was as though his pride had been cleaved in two. "Fine," he spat out unceremoniously.

Servius nodded again, and the papers were set before Helseth. They were taken away from the once-mighty lord before the seal-wax had fully cooled. Less than a day later, Ocato received word that Helseth Hlaalu had withdrawn Prince Goranthir from the recommendation process. In a competition for the crown that originally contained several individuals, only two had made it through the process and remained—General Erasmus Servius and Imperator Hieronymus Lex.


	34. Loyalty

Things were changing for the XIIth Legion. The normally overgrown land outside of Fort Nikel had been recently covered by a huge tent, housing uncertain contents. To make room for this, the forest itself had been chopped down and burned away. Meanwhile, the caravans from Morrowind had just arrived and their crews were hauling colossal, tarp-covered objects out from the wagons to under the tent. Supervising all of this was Erasmus Servius himself, standing in the middle of the bustling site and watching the unloading with the greatest severity. His gaze turned to two figures walking out from the tent over towards him. One was Habasi, the other a short, excited mage. A dark smile crossed Servius' face. "Well?" he asked, "What do you think?"

Habasi looked unimpressed. "Scrap metal," she said with a dismissive apathy.

The mage actually took offence to the comment. "Scrap metal!? Are you daft!?" he yelled in shock before turning to the Imperial. "General Servius, I never thought I'd ever see an artifact like this as long as I'd ever live! I'm truly honored to have the chance to work with it. I mean, it's amazing. I can't believe you have so much of it still intact as it is—this is a true miracle."

Servius looked the mage over once. Normally he would retch at the very idea of putting such an important task in the hands of a buffoon such as this one, but he really didn't have a choice this time. "What is its status?"

The mage pondered the question. "Well… I'm exaggerating its condition to a small degree. It is very damaged, but many of the smaller, internal connections are still extant. If we work around the clock, we might be able to have it in… Somewhat of a working order by the time you want it. But to actually restore it to its full potential—"

"Is unnecessary at this time," Servius interjected.

"If you insist, sir," said the mage, 'I'd also like to point out though, that this discussion is moot if you don't find some sort of power supply for it. I'm not sure _what _kept it running before, but it needs to input more energy than any device I've ever seen. I can't even point you in the right direction regarding where you could find something so powerful."

Servius seemed unconcerned. "Leave that to me," he replied, "Now, get back to work. It _needs _to be ready before the twentieth: if not, then this is all for nothing."

The mage bowed. "As you command."

He backed away and returned to the tent, eagerly throwing orders to his staff. Habasi moved to Servius' side. She didn't share the researcher's optimism. "It isn't even half-complete. It is impossible for it to be in working order when you wish."

Servius shook his head slowly. "I thought that as well at first, but that's why I dismantled all those Dwemer towers—the spare parts _should _be enough to jury rig it to a point where we can get it to at least function somewhat. This involves working with a radically different blueprint than it was originally intended to use, but this way I'll still see it work to a degree."

Habasi remained unconvinced. "A far greater man than you tried to complete it. Why do you believe you can finish it when he failed?"

"Necessity is the mother of invention," Servius mused, stroking his chin once, "I'm working under a much stricter timetable than he did and with some of the best Dwemer experts in the world serving me. You should have more faith in this. Regardless, how are the boats coming along?"

"For the reenactment fleet? That is what is on your mind?"

One of Servius' many public displays would be a huge reenactment of the Battle of Hunding Bay out in Lake Rumare. The lower classes were already eager for a spectacle that was said to put the most lavish arena spectacles to shame, and for completely free as well. Servius took great pains to make sure that all the ships were ready. "This little show is just as important as what is under that tent, Habasi."

"They should be complete within the week," Habasi replied, not convinced of the worth of such a gaudy display.

"Excellent," he said with a dusky satisfaction, "With those projects well underway, I suppose I can finally turn my attention towards my efforts the City…"

Habasi gave Servius another prying look, but swiftly turned herself around and walked off towards the tent. Servius gave an appraising smile as he watched her prowl away. 'She didn't even wait for me to dismiss her. Whatever she went through, it certainly didn't quash her spirit.'

He turned and walked through the camp towards his own personal tent. It was little more than a temporary office, but sufficed for his needs. He walked towards a table in the center of it and started looking over some documents, determining what he needed to do with the rest of his day. As he began filing away papers, he heard a sudden wind at the door. He stopped his movements and looked up. No one was there.

The general took a step backwards and slowly drew his sword. His razor-sharp intuition was picking up on something, and even if he wasn't positive about what it was, he wasn't going to let his guard down. He slowly scanned his room, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Still nothing. If this were any other time, he would consider putting his guard down, but this was no ordinary time. A second later, he picked up on a nearly undetectable sound behind him. He spun around at super-human speed, and saw the intruder of his tent.

Before him was a slender man clad in dark robes. The figure shook his head. "You're really something," the man said, sounding almost pleased, "I could've sworn I was going to be able to slit your throat without any resistance, but look what I get for being too overconfident. I'm really impressed, though, honest."

Servius kept his blade out, staring down the arrogant man. His mind was already working on two levels—one was assessing the man and any abilities he might possess, the other was trying to determine who he was. He looked like a member of the Dark Brotherhood in many respects, but Servius knew instinctively that wasn't the case. "Who are you?" he asked firmly.

"Just an honest assassin, trying to make my way in the world," the figure said with a shrug. "But _you _Erasmus, you're the one we should be talking about. I mean, I've never worked with anyone quite as industrious as yourself. I wasn't planning on taking you out for another two weeks, but here you've gone and defied my expectations. That little toy you've got in that big tent—just genius. I never thought I'd need to improvise like this."

A cruel smirk found its way onto Servius' face. "You're too kind. But I'm afraid I can't die just yet."

The figure laughed once. "You'd be really surprised how many people say that same sort of thing, but the funny thing is that they all wind up dying anyway."

The man reached to his hip and grabbed at his garment. Servius was surprised to find that it wasn't just cloth—he had hidden a scabbard in there, and it was almost unnoticeable. Moving quickly, Servius was able to backstep away in time so that when the figure drew his blade he wasn't struck by it. 'He's turned drawing his sword into an attack. Intriguing.'

The robed man was now wielding an elegant katana, and straightened himself back up after his attack had missed. "Look at you!" the figure said mirthfully, "You managed to dodge! That's really something; I never thought I'd be able to go all out on one of you humans. Even though I'm going to kill you, you should be really honored."

Servius readied his blade and entered a fighting posture. "Honored? Well, I'll see whether or not that's true when we're done!"

He took the initiative and sprang off his feet towards the cloaked man. His rival laughed and charged as well. Steel clashed as their duel began…

* * *

Lynette Flyte stood in front of her mirror, mumbling her prayers while she fixed her hair. She used to think that the long process of preening herself in the morning was horribly tedious, but she realized over time that it was actually a great opportunity to double task, which she demonstrated by finishing her praises to Mara. She had to admire her own craftiness—precious time in her day could be conserved in this way.

As the lady continued, she heard a knock on the door and glanced towards it. One of her guards had already moved to see who it was. The man frowned in disapproval. "It's that commoner again," he said with obvious distaste.

Lynette suddenly smiled brightly. "Oh, excellent!" she chirped, "See him in."

The guard opened the door with some reluctance to allow a young Imperial to enter. He looked about the room slowly, having never before seen anything that matched the splendor of the Tiber Septim's finest rooms. He eventually caught sight of Lynette, who smiled at him fondly. Rather than be pleased at this, he covered his eyes in horror. "You're not ready yet!" he squawked in embarrassment. "I'm so, so sorry! I'll leave!"

Lynette blinked in confusion, then rolled her eyes, although still smiling. "Mr. Rufus, don't be silly. I'm just adjusting my braids. I'll be done in a few minutes. Please, sit and make yourself comfortable."

Maro slowly lowered himself into an extraordinarily plush armchair. He looked over to the guard, who shot him a suspicious glare. Maro frowned and looked over to Lynette, who returned her attention to the mirror. "Well, we certainly have our work cut out for us today!" she said with a sort of zest for life that even she was unused to, "I'm planning on visiting the Metalsmith's Guild this morning and see if we can't get their support. One of the higher-ups in it owes my father for his success, and I'm positive that he will give us some leverage over Servius."

Maro nodded, almost cautiously. "That sounds fine."

"Good. Depending on how negotiations go, we might be able to visit another group. We need to win over as many different bodies as we can before the Grand Debate."

"Which is on the twentieth, right?"

"Correct. The Elder Council has stated that by the time the Grand Debate has finished, they will have made their choice on Emperor. The only option they have to prevent anarchy is to chose the man who the public supports the most, but currently opinions are almost equally divided between the imperator and Servius. It'll be all up to him when the debates start, but until then I will do everything in my power to help," she said with finality as she applied the finishing touches to her hair.

She practiced one of her disarmingly dazzling smiles in the mirror and gave a more natural one in approval. She looked over to the guard, who hadn't taken his eyes off of Maro since the man entered. "You," she said, pointing over to him, "Go confirm my dinner arrangements for tonight, with Mr. Atius."

The guard bowed once, gave a final, threatening glare to the shopkeep and left the room. Lynette cocked her head towards the door and listened as his footsteps grew fainter. When she was certain that he was gone she looked back over to Maro, her face now infinitely troubled. She ran over to him, and he stood in return. She embraced him tightly, trying her best not to weep. Her entire frame, which had been so lively a moment ago, now trembled like a small leaf caught in a storm. "It's _so difficult…_" she whispered with a wavering voice.

Maro tried to console her as best he could. "I know," he replied softly.

She didn't say anything in return. Maro attempted to smile. "It'll get easier as time goes on," he continued, "Heck, after Julia's accident, she didn't speak for months… Trust me, she'll get better too, in time."

Again, Maro received no response. Lynette stepped backwards and took a deep breath in, and a moment later, the guard returned. "My lady," he said, "It had already been confirmed."

Lynette looked to the guard, her eyes bright once again, although the tiniest bit red, "Had it now? I'm glad. Well," she said, picking up her parasol, "We'd best be off. Daylight's burning!"

Maro watched her leave with a concerned look on his face. 'This can't be healthy for her…' he reflected as she left the room. Her happiness was all too manufactured, which was just as bad for her as her previous sorrow. Maro couldn't spend too much time brooding over it, though, as the guard was once again glaring his direction, not trusting Maro to be alone in the room. The young man quickly sprang out from his thoughts and out of the room, off to aid Lady Flyte however he could.

* * *

Varnado couldn't believe how peaceful The Best Defense was when Maro was gone. He had actually been able to finish his ledgers on time, which he found was much easier when he wasn't pestered with endless off-topic questions, such as whether or not Orcish cuisine was _really _all that bad, or discussing the best way to escape from a hive of swarming wasps. He actually was able to take a book out and read for pleasure. Across the room, lounging where Maro usually kept up shop was Julia Rufus, who was idly tossing a coin into the air and catching it as it fell. Varnado closed his book. "You know, I'm actually sort of disappointed that Flyte is only staying until the year ends."

"I thought we were in agreement that she's bad news," the woman mused.

"No doubt there," Varnado replied, "But she's like a nanny for the boy. Running the store by myself is like a dream come true. If she were here for a few months, I could probably even expand, and I'm sure the lack of stress would add a few years to my life…"

Julia made an amused face. "That's mean."

"Well, maybe it'd only add a few years to my hair's color," he admitted, "Regardless, no matter the woman's intentions are, I think I'll still toast from now on to her saint-like patience."

The woman gave Varnado a small smile. "You know I appreciate everything you do for my brother."

Varnado gave a small, worried sigh. "I don't know. I can still pay to keep him in the building, but if his business doesn't pick up, he won't be able to afford the Guild fees. I don't know what to do about it."

That statement killed the conversation. Varnado opened his book again and went back to reading. Julia tossed her coin again, but missed grabbing it on the way down. It clanged somewhere on the ground. She frowned, felt the desk over to see if there was another one nearby, and then hung her head in defeat. She turned her attention back to Varnado. "The funny thing is that, honestly, I prefer Servius to Lex," she began, walking towards Varnado's half of the room.

Varnado looked up from his book. "Not too fond of Lex, are you?"

Julia laughed. "Well, we all knew that on the job he was pretty much a lifeless zombie. Who would've guessed that off the job, he's still the same way. I doubt he really has any skills besides shaking down the poor. I'm not sure how well the Empire will do with him at the helm."

The Redguard returned to his book. "Regardless, you saw firsthand that Servius isn't exactly a paragon of virtue himself."

"Well, neither was any other emperor," Julia noted, "Why does everyone suddenly insist that the emperor needs to be a good person? It's beside the point. Servius might be a monster, but he's very effective and knows how to be ruthless in fulfilling his goals. That sort of power is good in a ruler, I think. Better than Lex, who'll probably divert the legions to go catch a fairy-tale."

"Frankly," Varnado said, closing the book again, "I really don't care one way or another. My taxes will probably stay the same. I just want Lex out of my basement and to be able to walk around town without hearing all this inane political talk."

"That's boring… And I was going to see if you wanted to come with me to one of Servius' rallies. You know there's free food there, and it's good too."

Varnado opened his book yet again. "I think I'll pass."

Before Julia could respond, the door to the shop opened. A young adventurer walked in and looked about. Varnado rolled his eyes once in exasperation and closed his book for the final time. So much for the _Wolf Queen. _"Welcome to The Best Defense," he began as the shopper walked towards him, "My name is Varnado, and I sell heavy armor here; I'm a trainer in it, too, so I know what I'm talking about…"

* * *

Kirania looked down at the platter she had prepared with a frown. She wasn't sure quite how well the food had turned out. She had never fancied herself the chef—she normally had housemates and cheap dining to cover that. But here she was, in a new change of clothes, (her first attempt at working the stove had turned out more… difficult than she had originally planned) trying to determine whether or not the meal she had finished was actually edible, especially to Imperial tastes.

A concerned smile found its way onto her face. Lex had gone through quite a bit during these last few weeks. While he was recovering in one respect since the battle in Morrowind, he was degenerating in another. He looked so grim and sober whenever they were together, even more than he had been in the past. It was painfully obvious to her that he wasn't happy. Unfortunately, there was little she could do to make things easier for him. Most of these trials he had to do himself, and he loathed to have company while he was working. This relegated Kirania to a position she didn't much care for—trying to accomplish small gestures to make Lex feel at least a little more relaxed. It made her more or less feel useless.

Balancing the tray on one hand, she opened the door to Lex's room. "Imperator?" she said, taking a step inside, "It's me."

The quarters were about as unsurprising as could be. His chambers were spartan and orderly, which was curious as an officer of his rank was allowed to use their own personal decorations and furnishings, but the entire room was composed of regulation equipment. The moonlight filtering through a window illuminated Lex sitting at his desk, reading over a large variety of thick books and papers. His gaze was weary, yet determined. Upon hearing Kirania, he looked up from his work, and upon realizing who it was gave a tired smile. "It's you," he said, setting down his work, "Please, come. What is that you have?"

Kirania entered the room, smiling in return. "I made you a meal," she said, walking over to him, "Seeing as you skipped supper."

Lex looked surprised for a moment. "Did I really?"

"Yes," Kirania said, setting down the platter on a small table, "And if you don't eat well, you'll catch the death of you."

The Imperial stood and walked over to the food. "Well, I'm thankful I have someone like you looking over me. Let's see what we have." He looked over the meal once, and then bore a thoughtful frown. "This meal…" he said slowly.

Kirania felt herself blush. "Yes?"

"It's…" Lex said, looking it over, "All meat."

The woman blinked once, and then gave a bright laugh. "Of course it is, sir. I'm a Bosmer, remember? Green Pact?"

Lex sighed. "Right. I knew that."

"Really, you're a big man," she said, finding this all very amusing, "You shouldn't have much of a problem with a meal like this, right?"

He nodded. "No, this is fine. I was just a little surprised."

He picked up a fork and without wasting any time ate a piece that was cooked in some manner he was unfamiliar with. Kirania tried to gauge his reaction from the look on his face, but found it to be very difficult. He swallowed the piece and gave a thoughtful nod. "This… Is better than the rations."

Kirania wasn't sure whether or not to be offended. In most situations she figured that she would be, but this wasn't most situations. Lex was Lex, after all. She gave him a sardonic smile. "Thank you."

Lex nudged a knife her way. "You eat, too," he said, "I don't want to just sit here while you don't have anything yourself."

"Well, it's your food."

"It's also ungentlemanly," Lex added.

Kirania gave a small smile and decided to try something that looked appetizing. Lex continued to eat in strict silence as she tried a portion of pheasant, which to her dismay she found absolutely revolting. Lex took a piece of it soon after she managed to swallow hers, and ate it without so much as a face. After that ill-fated experience, she took aim to eat as slowly as physically possible. She looked over towards her superior. "I take it you were hard at work?" she began in an attempt to strike up a little conversation.

Lex nodded. "Lady Flyte gave me several books that I'm to read before the Grand Debate. Apparently it will teach me what I need to know in order to impress the Elder Council as well as the people. It's denser than what I normally read."

"What do you normally read, by the way? I don't think you've ever told me."

Lex gestured with his head to a small bookshelf. All of the volumes that lined it were simple and cheap. Kirania could pick out a few titles. _Six Theories on Crime. The Growth of the Criminal Organization: 3e 275-399. A Description of the Rimmen City Guard. _Once she had read the names, Kirania smirked. "And that's what you go to for fun?"

The Imperial shrugged. "I read what I'm interested in."

She looked back to the shelf, determined to find _something _that wasn't directly related to crime. Lex was about to object, but a moment before he could Kirania's eyes flashed and she leaned forward. The Imperator groaned as he realized what she had found. The Bosmer picked up a book, one that actually looking rather ornate, as she tried to keep in imminent laughter. "_The Four Suitors of Benitah? _You actually own a copy of _The Four Suitors of Benitah?"_

Lex tried to look calm, although Kirania could tell that he was rather embarrassed. She had never seen him quite like this, and it was all she could do not to dissolve on the spot. Her companion looked to the side. "I read it quite a bit when I was younger."

With that, he blushed. It was all too much for the Bosmer. She broke into peals of mirthful laughter on the spot, much to Lex's chagrin. Several seconds passed as she tried to regain some composure, but when she glanced back at Lex and his exceptionally dry look, she broke down again. Lex sighed and rolled his eyes as she finally brought herself together. "I-I'm very sorry," she breathed, "I just never pegged you as much of a romantic."

"That was the first book I was able to read by myself," Lex said in the even voice of a man trying to preserve his dignity. "Look at the first page."

Kirania opened the book. Sure enough, she noticed a small, handwritten message on the first page.

_To my darling son Hieronymus,  
May you always live your life with gaiety, conduct your actions with honor, and pursue your dreams with zeal._  
–_Your loving Mother._

She sobered slightly. "It's from your mother, huh? Well, I guess that's a good reason to keep it around. I'm sorry for laughing," she said, giving Lex a smaller, more sincere smile.

Lex shrugged and went back to his meal, apparently now unconcerned with the whole affair. Kirania could tell once again that the man was under intense stress, and suddenly felt quite ashamed that she had go out of her way to tease him like she did. He looked as he always did, like the sole rock jetting from a raging ocean, weathering the waves and elements quietly and stoically. But today, it was slightly different. He was cracking, ever so slightly. They were small things—a small patch on his chin accidently unshaven, some dirt on his armor that hadn't been cleaned—things so small that to most people they would simply be normal, everyday slip-ups. Lex didn't have those.

"Are you feeling all right?" the girl asked in a quiet tone, now looking at him seriously.

"I'm fine," Lex responded swiftly.

"Fine …?" Kirania replied, unconvinced. She looked at Lex for another moment, but he seemed more than content to sit in silence. "Are you sure? Because you don't look okay to me."

Lex glanced up at her, and then back to the food. "I'll _be _fine, at any rate."

Kirania frowned. "See? You just told me that you're not fine."

The Imperial gave a frustrated sigh. "Really, you don't need to be concerned," he said, trying to drop the subject.

Kirania's frown turned from concerned to almost offended. "Well, I'm sorry if I'm concerned about a friend…"

Lex put a hand to his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Guilt was the last thing he wanted to feel right now. "Damnation…" he muttered, "Well, what is it that you want to know?"

The Bosmer said nothing for several moments. Her eyes were thoughtful, as though she were trying to decide whether or not to ask something. She looked up to him with truly concerned face, which caused Lex himself to be taken unawares. "Imperator," she began, her voice wary, "I want to know… Is becoming emperor really what you want out of your life?"

He looked her over quizzically for a moment, and then gave her a thin smile that was weary as it was understanding. "Whether or not I _want _this is irrelevant. It—"

"'Is my duty'," Kirania interjected, finishing his sentence for him, "I knew you'd go and say something like that. But I don't want to hear what you've 'got' to do, or what you 'ought' to do, but rather what you _want _to do."

Lex gave a weary sigh. "I put aside such egoism a long time ago…"

Kirania almost slammed her hands on the table in frustration. "It _isn't _egoism, Hieronymus! I… I just can't understand how you'll do this!" she said, her voice quivering with emotion, "If you succeed, all your efforts will give you is misery. It's like you're off to sacrifice yourself, but for what? To make yourself feel like you carried out some duty? To make some dead man happy? Can you tell me _why, _at least, so while I watch you torment yourself, I can at least know _some _reason why a person I care about is enduring something he despises?"

She half-expected a reprimand, but instead of growing professional and cold, Lex's façade cracked. His eyes, while always distant, now took on a level of self-doubt that she had never seen in him before. "I've been asking myself that same question often, recently…"

Kirania's lips parted in subdued surprise. Lex closed his eyes, now looking more unsteady than before, as he continued to speak. "I've gotten to an odd pinnacle in my life. I'm a few days removed from vying for the world's highest office. It's caused me to reevaluate my actions so far, and… I just don't know, Kirania. I don't know where I've come from, or where I'm going," he muttered. A brief moment passed as he recollected his thoughts. "I felt at first as though… As though my life to this point had been easy, because I always knew my direction. But looking back on it now… I don't think I ever chose where to go myself. I'm a guardsman because my father was before me, and I needed to live up to his expectations. I'm a candidate because Civello deemed it, and I needed to obey my superiors… I… I don't know if anything in my life was chosen because I wanted it to be… This was never a concern to me, but now…"

Lex shook his head, looking almost defeated. Kirania watched on, almost as grieved herself. "That can't be true," she insisted, "What about the Thieves' Guild? You took that upon yourself, didn't you? No one told you to do that."

Lex gave a bitter smile. "Do you think I actually _enjoyed _fighting the Guild? Do you think I _enjoyed _having my peers laugh at me behind my back, at having the press publicly question my competence, to have strangers who I spent _every single hour _serving _insult _me when they thought I couldn't hear? I couldn't stand it. It nearly drove me mad. I came to this city wanting to do good, and how did it thank me? By hating me. I was very, very unhappy."

Kirania couldn't respond immediately out of surprise. "I… I had no idea."

"Of course not. I'm a very private man; I wasn't going to broadcast my misfortune to the world. It was soul-killing, though. At first, I dearly wanted to bring the Guild to justice for true reasons. I'm not a religious man, but I deeply respect Zenithar and his teachings. Hard work makes one better; it redeems. I couldn't stand thieves, who go about pilfering off someone else's labor. Instead of making the city a better place for everyone, they care only about themselves, and their own wealth and greed… I couldn't stand their very existence, and the fact they had created a _guild _was an abject mockery of everything the Empire stands for. I wouldn't let it stand."

Throughout the course of saying this, Lex's voice began to pick up strength. It was passionate, even, but not in a frantic sense. Instead, it was an old, comfortable passion: similar to the one an old man feels for his wife of many years. It needn't be overt, because it had become so key to his very identity. Soon, though, this faded as uncertainty resurfaced. "But as time went on, and I became less successful, and everyone I knew began to despise me… The Guild became my hated foe. I think I can only admit this to myself now, after all this time. I started focusing every energy I had against it. Surely this was in part because if I could defeat it, I would be redeemed in the public's eye. But little by little, my mission of justice became a vendetta. The Guild had ruined me, and so I would destroy it, no matter the cost. It's so _obvious _now, but before… Even then, I really had no idea how much I despised what my life had become."

He suddenly stopped, and then laughed once. "Listen to me. I'm complaining like a child."

Kirania shook her head very slowly. "Don't say that. It's clear that you need this, and that you _want _to talk about this. Please," she said, giving him a reassuring, gentle smile, "You can tell me anything. I want to hear."

Lex looked at her for several moments. Normally his gaze was appraising, as though he were conducting some moral judgment, but his eyes no longer carried that. Kirania suddenly realized that he hadn't looked at her like that in some time. Lex began to speak again. "When you asked me what I _want… _I can't answer. I've spent so much time, and invested so much emotion into things I either didn't want or stopped wanting mid-way through. And now, I feel as though there's still things I want to do with myself while I'm still the time to do so, only to know those doors will be shut to me when I take up my new duties. And that makes me feel… Very uncertain. Duty has never been something I avoided before, and yet now I even wonder if all these years have been worth it. Perhaps it's all because of that madness that has happened since my return from Anvil, yet I cannot be certain."

He stopped talking. Kirania looked at him, with an odd hope dancing in her eyes. "Have you ever considered... Quitting?"

"The candidacy?" Lex said, slightly surprised that she would even mention it, "I've… Fantasized about it, certainly. But I can't do that."

"Why not?" Kirania replied, her voice almost insistent on this.

Lex opened his mouth, but couldn't speak at first. He closed his eyes and laughed once, knowing that she wasn't going to like his response. "Because it is my duty," he said at last.

Kirania's mouth opened slightly, clearly unaccepting of the response. "Your _duty_? Hieronymus, didn't you just say you didn't want your duty?"

He nodded tiredly. "You're right. I don't want this task at all, and if I could give it away, believe me, I would in a heartbeat. But I simply can't. Perhaps if it was competing against an honorable man I could, but Servius is not one of them. He is a cruel man, one I can't let become emperor. As I said…" he repeated, "It is my duty."

Kirania shook her head, and then pointed a finger towards Lex. "No," she said simply, "I won't accept that so easily! This is making you miserable, and you'll always be miserable if you do so! Please, just think for a moment. How about for once, _just once, _instead of doing your 'duty' and your 'obligation' you do what you actually _want. _This is your only chance, do you realize that? I won't just let you throw it away like this—I can't even understand why you feel like you have to do this," she finished on an exasperated note.

Lex smiled towards her, and perhaps it was his first of the evening that actually seemed real. "That, Kirania, I can answer. It's one of my principles. And one needs to stay true to those, no matter what. That's what makes a life of worth, rather than a selfish life. Those are the principles I followed when I started to fight the Guild. That… _idea _I was trying to tell you about after I read your article. 'Never stop working to make this a better place for everyone'—I meant those words when I said them. It's something greater than myself, and I know if I gave up on it I'd hate what I would become."

"And you're just willing to throw happiness away to satisfy your principles?" Kirania replied, sounding as though she herself was hurt, "Can you really do that without regrets?"

"No," Lex replied simply, "But regrets are a burden I will bear if it's for the common good. Now come, settle down. I don't want us to become angry over this."

Kirania looked at him, almost pained. She seemed so very frustrated, to a degree that Lex himself had never seen her work herself into. It was as though she were overly worried about the future, or perhaps she was unusually pessimistic this evening. As she tried to argue with Lex's choice, she gradually lost the almost frantic energy she had before. "I…" she managed, "I just don't want to see you unhappy…"

"Thank you."

She forced a smile onto her face. "Well, regardless of what you'll do, I think I've taken up enough of your time. It's pretty precious now, isn't it?" she said, attempting to lighten the mood. Her rattled disposition made an already weak joke even less effective.

"Your presence is never unappreciated," Lex said, returning to his normal decorum, "But I should get back to work."

Kirania nodded. "I'll just leave the food here for you then. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

Lex nodded in turn. "Of course."

"Well, then, I guess I'm off," she said, retreating to the door. "Don't stay up too late, okay? It's bad for your health."

She received a dry smile for her efforts. "Goodnight, guardswoman," he said drolly.

Kirania waved, and then closed the door behind her. As soon as she got out of the room, her look of manufactured cheer gave way to an absolute, desperate doubt. She worked her way out of the barracks, at first moving slowly, but gradually building up speed. Soon she was at a brisk walk, then a jog, which evolved into a run and even a sprint as she turned the corridors and broke out of the doors into a small, abandoned courtyard. She collapsed onto her knees as she covered her face with her hands. Tears flowed out from her eyes, glittering in the starlight as her body began to tremble. She looked up to the moon, her face completely dejected—she was completely lost. "What am I doing!?" she cried out, her voice consumed by guilt. There was no response, as she had expected. How could there be? She had made her choices, and now she had to deal with the consequences. Now she was entirely alone.

* * *

Habasi laid down alone in her room. Nothing Fort Nikel possessed could be seen as even resembling cozy, but at least her quarters were mostly dry. They were, however, cold, dark, and colorless. It almost felt like a prison cell sometimes, with a cot on one side of the room and a small stool and table at the other. The room itself was cramped with hardly any room to walk, and so the normally skulking huntress had been confined to her bed during these dark hours. She didn't like it.

Her gaze remained on the roof of this black room, looking at the rough-hewn stone that surrounded her. She breathed in the air, which was still unfamiliar and uncomfortably humid. The only illumination was a dim ribbon of moonlight which came in through an arrowslit window—the rest was darkness. She didn't like the darkness, either. Not because of fear, or the lack of vision: that meant little to a Kahjiit. No, she hated the darkness because that is when _he _came.

In fact, he was already sitting there, on the chair.

She slowly turned her head over to look at him. The visitor was as he always was: well dressed and sitting respectfully. His hair was sleekly slicked back, and its color matched his ebon skin. He was smiling with the patient sort of grin of a man who was willing to wait as long as it takes to get what he wants. "Good evening, Habasi," he said in a slow, rich voice.

Habasi gave him a weary look. "Not tonight," she said, "I don't want you here tonight."

The visitor gave her a warm, understanding smile. "I wouldn't be here if you didn't wish it, Habasi. You know that."

"I just want to sleep," she muttered, but didn't turn away from the man.

"But you can't sleep," he said knowingly, "You're aware of this, Habasi. The evening is an important time, far too valuable to be wasted on something as trifling as sleep."

"You are a trifle."

The visitor didn't respond, but closed his eyes. His smile was still broad. "I'm very proud of the work you have been doing lately, Habasi."

"I despise the work. I do this only until Christophe lets me leave, then I will leave."

"Habasi, please don't lie."

"I hate it."

"But this work is better than what you've been doing before, isn't it?"

"In Morrowind?"

"Where else?"

"Work was better in Morrowind."

"Was it really? Wasn't it a waste of your talents to squander the best years of your life out there in the hinterlands? I don't recall that you ever enjoyed living there."

"You never came to me there."

"A valid point, but I still know these things."

"Working for Stacey was better than working for Servius."

"But Stacey was a nothing. He was a small man with big dreams, and for that the Tong nearly killed him. He vanished, leaving you all for dead," the visitor explained, with the slow deliberation of a professor explaining a proof, "So much for his leadership. If you were to completely honest with yourself, you would admit that you much prefer working for Servius."

"I despise Servius."

"But you do prefer it, don't you? Like a moth to a flame, you're drawn into him, even though you know you shouldn't be. You absolutely despise him, but at the same time, you fear he is correct."

"He is wrong. He is totally wrong."

"Wrong on a moral level, perhaps," the visitor conceded, "Yet the world has more levels to it than the moral one—the legalistic level, the metaphysical level, the divine level: maybe he is right on those ones. If he is right on all those levels, then surely that sort of correctness overrides his moral failings."

"That disgusts me."

"Can the world really disgust you any more, Habasi? Of all people, you should be relieved to know that there is no real justice."

"There must be."

"If so, why hasn't it come for you? Why did it abandon you time and time again?"

"I just want to go to sleep."

"Let's go back to what you said before," he continued, still warmly smiling. "You said that you will leave after this work is complete."

"I've wanted to leave for so long."

"Then why did you come back to Cyrodiil?"

"I had no idea where the ship was going to go."

"But you stayed all the same. It was Armand, wasn't it?"

"I hate him, too."

"But you just can't escape that which you hate. I'm afraid that is a most unhealthy habit to acquire."

"I'm going to leave in one week, and then I'm never coming back."

"Habasi, what did I tell you about lying?"

"I'm not lying."

"Then why haven't you left already?"

"It's only one more week: then everything is behind me."

"I don't think you will do it. I don't think you can live without Servius."

"I don't even know the man."

"Well, that's irrelevant. People are just little canisters for their ideas, after all. Ideas are the only things with _real_ life. That makes Servius the most healthy of us all, too. You realize how great he is, and it's like a seed has been planted in your mind: you can't think about anything else. Even if you run away right at this very moment, he's now too much a part of your being to ever be fully removed."

"That's madness. He's not that important to me."

"If he wasn't, I wouldn't exist."

"What do you want from me?" Habasi moaned.

"I'm just here to visit, Habasi. Nothing more."

"Then why do you torment me so? Why won't you just leave me in peace?"

"Because I'm so very healing. You've never been at peace your entire life, and if you go to sleep, you'll just have nightmares. But if we talk it out together, you will finally be able to let go of the past and be a complete person. All it involves doing is throwing away your morals, which if you think about it isn't that big of a price to pay. Frankly, they haven't done you much good."

"I'm not moralistic. That part of me died with the Nine-Lives."

"No, you still believe in morals, but you've just become bitter because they haven't worked for you. So, ultimately, you're paying the price of living within a world of principles, but without any added benefits they give to people. If your mind was a business, I doubt it would be running a profit."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe 'throwing away' is too strong a term. How about you… Transcend your morals? The only reason that they exist is because someone who once profited from them enforced them on your mind. I wager that a world without principles is coming, and it is coming soon. A world where right and wrong have no meaning, and where concepts like duty and loyalty lie in the dust. Servius has already seen this, and benefited from his new worldview. If you accept the same divine calling, you'll be the spearhead of a great new movement which will sweep across this land like a plague."

"I don't want to be famous."

"Yes, you do. We all do. You're just saying that because you've accepted the fact that you never will be."

"Leave me alone."

"You don't need to switch overnight. After all, the new world won't be forged overnight. It will happen slowly, over time. As times begins to chip away at the boundaries of good and evil, everyone will gradually return the world to its proper state, as it was before Lorkhan interfered and ruined everything. This must come to pass, for it is the will of the princes."

"You're mad."

"Not really. People are always so concerned with the physical and mundane they don't understand that an equally important war is being waged beneath the surface of the world, on a level of ideas and in the arena of man's soul. Dagon's hand extends far further than just burning Kvatch. The Crisis was just like Servius; something to sow the seeds of the new generation and bring humanity closer to perfection. Someday you'll praise his destructive name."

"You don't know what you are talking about."

"Please, Habasi, be more opened minded. So many mortals despise Dagon for his actions, probably because he killed so many of you. This is silly: men have killed themselves at an exponentially higher rate than Dagon ever dared. Regardless, when men kill each other it's actually become somewhat boring, but when a Daedra does it there is still that exciting element of fear. Because of this fear of Dagon, you demonize him and refuse to see him as he really is, which is in actually the world's benefactor. He has come to change the land for the better, through a vehicle that mankind should recognize as their oldest pleasure and closest companion—slaughter."

"That's impossible."

"Nothing is impossible. It just requires that you have a confident enough mind to grasp and embrace what frightens you, and you have that potential."

"Why must you do this?"

"I do this because you want me to, and need me to. You understand the glory that awaits you, but you're just a little too frightened to take a big leap. But don't worry. I enjoy talking to you, and our conversations are quite pleasant. I can keep coming to you as long as it takes, be it days or years. Even if you were to die and be reborn, I would still come back to you."

"Leave me," Habasi said, turning around, "I'm so tired."

"Of course," the visitor said, nodding politely, "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Leave," she said again. There was no reply. Habasi stared once again at the ceiling of her room and remained unmoving for the rest of the long, dark night.

* * *

Armand Christophe looked at the woman across from him, his face extremely grave. "You understand that you're making a very serious accusation," he said slowly, his words carefully chosen.

The young woman nodded firmly. "I am. The truth has to be revealed."

Christophe stood from his desk and walked over to a nearby window, looking out over the night. "I must say," he said darkly, "It is difficult to believe that a girl with as much promise as Methredhel would betray us. Her future is very bright."

"That is one of the reasons I waited before I told you. It was hard for me to believe this myself. But Lex has used our own agents against us in the past—Arano was one of our more important agents, and she had been on his payroll for some time. With the wealth he acquired from Civello, I'm sure it was easy for him to turn our own mole against us."

Christophe narrowed his eyes. "That is true. The young can be very reckless in pursuing their ambitions," he said with a curious tone to his voice.

He walked back to his seat. There were several documents placed over it, all written in Methredhel's hand. If they were to be believed, she had been slowly leaking sensitive information to the Imperial Watch in exchange for a respectable slice of Civello's estate. He looked at the woman again, still deathly serious. "How do you feel about this?"

"What do you mean?"

"You two are good friends, if I recall correctly. I'm sure you have some personal emotions involved here, Carwen."

Carwen's expression stayed one of pure professionalism. "Sometimes we need to know our priorities. What Meth's done is bad for the Guild, and even if we are friends, I can't let that happen. We need to know our priorities, after all."

"Yes," Christophe said, this time slightly more quiet, "We do. If that is all, I must ask, are you sure this is all you wish to present?" he said, his voice carrying a certain finality to it.

Carwen gave a single, firm nod. "Yes, it is."

Christophe responded with a long, tired sigh. "I feared as much," he muttered. "Now the question of your punishment arises."

The Bosmer paled. "_My _punishment?"

"As I told you, you made a very serious accusation. And I know that it is a fabricated one," he added with a surprisingly tired look in his eye.

"But how?" Carwen said, now nearly dazed.

"It was rather difficult. A pity: had you not done this, there might've been a future for you in forgery. However, I've been in this business for decades, and know it inside and out. You used the wrong kind of paper in the documents. The Guard documents are made on slightly firmer stock than this—impossible to detect with the eye, but after handling them for years, I can tell the difference."

Carwen couldn't believe it. "You determined it all through the weight? How did you…?"

Christophe shook his head. His features had become somber and weary, not nearly as firm as he normally was in these situations. "To be honest, I normally would not have checked. But I know exactly how you're thinking, Carwen. Nervous about the rare Doyen position, jealous of a companion who you know is better than you… I know it all too well. As I told you before, there are some decisions that you make that you can never take back," he said slowly. Carwen could almost hear regret in his voice.

She was still in shock. She had spent so long on those papers and made them next to perfect. This had backfired in a way she never thought possible. Her chest felt as though it were about to explode. Her entire career burned away before her eyes, all because she had betrayed her friend. Christophe sighed again, looking more disappointed than angry. "And so the young repeat the mistakes of the old. What a sorry world."

Carwen looked down at the ground. She could hear Christophe make another long, pained sigh. It was almost as though he was taking this personally, maybe even worse than she had. "I'm not sure what to do with this;" Christophe began slowly, "These actions speaks very poorly of you. You not only betrayed your fellow thief, you backstabbed your friend. I'm sure you see how this reflects on you."

He received no reply. Frowning, he continued. "There is some precedent in cases like these—when a thief commits a grand betrayal of the Guild. The last incident was many years ago, committed by a woman much like yourself, and for similar motivations. She was cast off from the Guild and barred from ever returning. I don't think I need to tell you that the underworld is very unfriendly without the support net that the Guild provides."

Carwen hung her head in defeated shame. "So it's exile for me…" she mumbled.

Christophe held up a hand. "I haven't decided what I'm going to do just yet."

He sat in silence for several moments as he thought out a suitable punishment. Carwen said nothing. The Doyen eventually spoke, confidence having returned to his voice. "I can say that I'm not in any position to penalize you for what you did. But that does not mean you're going to get off this unscathed. When Methredhel is finished with her task, you'll personally tell her what you did yourself, and allow her to administer whatever punishment she sees fit."

Carwen gave him a confused look. "Really?"

Christophe scowled at her. "Yes, _really_. Now get out of my sight."

The Bosmer hopped up quickly and bowed, wasting no time in leaving the room. Christophe watched her leave with disgust. As he heard the door shut, he nearly spat. It made him absolutely sick. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He didn't feel any better. A despondent smile flickered across his face as he snorted once, sick at all of it. "Idiots, all of us…"

* * *

Kirania winked open her eyes and sat up with a surprised jolt. She had fallen asleep on a bench near Lex's barracks, and had spent most the night shamefully sprawled over it, for all the public to see. She probably would've stayed asleep in not for a slamming sound somewhere nearby. By her reckoning, it was still about an hour to dawn, so hopefully few people actually saw her by during these late hours. Regardless, it was horribly embarrassing to be caught doing something so slovenly, and in her uniform no less. Demerits loomed for this.

She suddenly frowned, wondering why she was even thinking about this. She was a thief, not a guardswoman. She looked about to become familiar with her surroundings, only to find that the source of the noise that woke her up was none other than General Sigrdríf, who was leaving the same building Lex lived in. Kirania gave her a wary look as the Nord shook her hair once and started to walk off. Before she left the district, the general caught sight of Kirania and gave her the same rude smile she always had ready for her. "Well," she said, the tone of her voice as cool as the predawn air, "I was under the impression that you were still asleep."

Kirania felt herself blush, but tried not to let her thoughts linger on it. "Why are you here?"

Sigrdríf's patronizing grin broadened. "I was just speaking to the imperator," she said, "Early risers need to stick together."

The Bosmer's face was still suspicious. "What were you talking about?"

"That's not really your business, is it?"

Kirania's face darkened even more. Sigrdríf scoffed and looked down at the thief, almost amused by her. "Listen, treehugger," she said, her voice more businesslike than angered, "You've been giving me dirty looks for as long as I've traveled with Lex, and frankly, I'm getting pretty sick of it. Do you have something to say to me? Because if so, muster up some courage and say it to my face."

Months of resentment boiled up like bile in the back of Kirania's throat, but she gave herself a moment to craft her statement. "I don't trust you," she said, the long-awaited word coming up quickly, "And I don't trust your motives when it regards Hieronymus."

"'Hieronymus'?" Sigrdríf said, the corner of her mouth twitching as though she were on the verge of laughter. "Well, then, what do you think my motives are? Do you think they're bad for him?"

Kirania said nothing in response, and Sigrdríf gave a sole, vindicated nod. "See, the thing is that you think I'm part of some big conspiracy against him, and that's mainly because you don't like me as a person. But if you took a moment to actually think, you'd realize that there are many simple reasons why I'm aiding Lex. First and foremost, in a week he very well might become the most powerful man in Tamriel. Getting on the good side of such a man is a very self-serving goal, but it is something that is helping _him, _isn't it? Even if you don't trust me, you can't pin any wrongdoing onto me. Which I couldn't really say about you…" she said, trailing her voice off, "… Methredhel."

Like a bolt of lightning, Methredhel felt shock course through her entire body. Her breathing became unsteady as her heart pounded like mad in her chest. Sigrdríf kneeled down to level their heights, giving the sweating Bosmer a judgmental grin. Methredhel looked over to her madly. "How did you know?"

"Oh," Sigrdríf said slowly, "I have contacts in the City… As soon as I met you, I had suspicions. And when I arrived here, I immediately went to work regarding your past. I was only recently able to confirm my suspicions. But now, I know the truth. You're such a horrible person. Slowly gaining the man's trust, letting him latch onto you after his only friend in the world died, pretending all the while you actually cared for his welfare when all you really were aiming for was a promotion for yourself—if I had _any _sympathy for you, I think I'd feel sick. But the level on which you've betrayed him is so personal, I actually think that I hate you—and trust me, I don't throw that word around often."

Her voice was level and even as she spoke, the ice-cold words chilling the blood in Methredhel's veins. "No," the Bosmer attempted to say, although the words came out rough and unfinished, "It wasn't that simple."

"Are you going to attempt to defend your actions?" Sigrdríf said, with the impersonal interest of someone hearing a stranger about to attempt an impossible boast, "Because that would really be something. Was spying on him really actually a kind act? Or are you going to make up a little story about how the thief actually grew to understand Captain Lex? Don't make me laugh. He despises what you are on an intrinsic level, and you him. I'm not stupid enough to buy whatever tale you'll spin, thief."

Methredhel was unwilling to accept any of this. Between Sigrdríf's judgments and Lex's—Lex. His reaction was still unknown. Methredhel looked at the general at the verge of tears. "Did you tell him?"

Sigrdríf scoffed. "No," she said coldly, "I didn't. I figured that when he hears what you really are, he'll be too distracted to go on with his bid. And unlike you, I actually care about him, and have been _honest _with him. But listen to me, little girl, you've crossed a very serious line, and you're _not _going to get away with it. By Azura, I'll see that you'll fall," she coninued, still as frigid as the blackest winter, "But not yet. Not quite yet. My eyes are on you, though. And if you want to run away like a little coward, you can do that, too. But I won't give up on justice. I am a servant of the Empire, and you are its enemy."

Methredhel grabbed at her hair. "Please, no!" she cried, more aimed at the world than at Sigrdríf.

"Show some damn self-respect. You're in the uniform—"

She was cut off by the sound of marching. The guard encampment started to come to life as the night watches entered through the great doors that sealed off the Bastion, their nightly duty fulfilled. Sigrdríf shot Methredhel one last, dangerous glance before exiting through the huge doors herself, leaving the Wood Elf shocked and alone. Away from the thief, Sigrdríf calmed herself down. She stopped under a leafless tree and leaned against it as she sought a new balance from her previous anger.

Balance. The word rang in her mind. Tentatively, Sigrdríf reached into her pocket and took out a small half-filled vial, still engraved with the mark of 'XII'. She spent several seconds looking at it with a now melancholic expression, before she put it away. Immediately after, she glanced back to where Lex was working, with the same uncertain, unhappy features. This only lasted for a moment though as she shook such thoughts from her mind and returned to the business at hand and the new, dawning day.

* * *

The sound of ringing steel shattered the morning peacefulness as Erasmus Servius and the cloaked man continued their duel. The long, elegant katana sliced through the air with ease, but every time he swung in for the kill, Servius was there to parry. The general's stance was one of absolute defense, always parrying, and only making his own strikes warily, almost more to provoke his foe into action than anything else. This tactic was starting to bear fruit. The cloaked man screamed in rage as he attacked again, Servius responded with a quick parry. The man's breath had become belabored.

'He's obviously used to fighting foes below his skill level,' Servius realized as he made a jab towards his foe, 'He is no doubt talented, but horribly green. He's too fatigued to go on. Idiot child.'

"Die!" the figured screamed as he swung again. Servius easily backstepped. The man screamed again, this time in a language that Servius didn't recognize.

'Now he's sloppy. Might as well end this.' Servius ducked under another blow, this one almost frenzied. He readjusted the grip of his sword and measured up his opponent. The man's reach put Servius at a disadvantage, but he was too weary to fully utilize that benefit the katana gave him. Servius focused and moved forward, closing the distance between them. He swung an attack of his own, this one swift and deadly, with murderous intent. Right before he hit, he heard the cloaked man make a soft noise, almost undetectable. A laugh. The general immediately hopped back in a maneuver that would've made a lesser combatant fall to the floor. It was for good reason. Had he tried to finish the blow, he'd be dead. A small dagger shone in the cloaked man's offhand, probably coming out of his sleeve. "You dodged? That's very impressive. Never seen anyone notice the dagger coming before."

Servius scowled. "A cheap trick."

"But effective," the man said mockingly, dropping the dagger and grabbing the hilt of his sword with both hands.

'And also a crutch." Servius thought. He launched another blow. The cloaked man swung his sword, the blade now moving faster and deadlier then before—exactly as Servius had wanted. He dodged out of the way artfully, and the low momentum of his short sword allowed him to recover balance precious seconds before the cloaked man. The opponent looked up in shock, his defenses down.

'All too easy.'

The blade struck the cloaked man square in the chest. He dropped his katana which clattered onto the ground. His body trembled as he looked down at the blade embedded into him. He tried to say something, but words simply wouldn't come. With the last of his strength, he turned his head so that he could see Servius. The general's cold eye gleamed at him. "You will not stop me. Lex will not stop me. _No one _will stop me."

Servius drew the blade free. The cloaked man collapsed onto the floor in a pile. The general sneered at the corpse disapprovingly as he sheathed his sword. As the heat of battle faded from him, his disgust turned to slow intrigue. He knelt down next to the figure and slowly pulled off his hood, exposing the cloaked man's face. Servius' eye first widened in shock, but immediately afterward a new, shadowy smile spread across his face.

"Fascinating…"


	35. The Grand Debate, Part I

Lex opened his eyes. Today was the day. He stared silently at the roof of his room. He felt the desire to not even leave his bed this morning (a feeling he had felt frequently as of late, and one he had never felt before his candidacy), but then took in a deep, silent breath to build up his resolution. He rose from his bed and donned his armor as was his habit, his features mostly neutral, but perhaps a little pensive. He splashed a little water onto his face from a simple basin, then left his room and exited the building.

Dawn hadn't even broken yet. The atmosphere was calm and peaceful as Lex looked about the numerous buildings belonging to the Imperial Guard, the organization he dedicated his life to. This was, more than any other place, his home. And this might just be his last chance to enjoy it as a simple guardsman, without having to worry about whatever obligations the crown entailed. He never realized until just now how much he loved this district. As he looked about, he caught sight of a figure out of the corner of his eye. Sigrdríf. The general smiled to him and started to walk. "I hope I'm not interrupting you," she said, her voice as cool as the predawn air.

Lex shook his head. "Not really," he replied, wiping the nostalgia off of his voice.

"Very good, sir," Sigrdríf said softly, "The debates will start at ten o'clock sharp. Are you fully prepared?"

Lex nodded firmly. "I am."

The Imperator started to leave the district, with Sigrdríf following him. She gauged his face carefully as they opened the great doors that led to the Market District. She narrowed her eyes knowingly, and then renewed her efforts to make conversation. "Have you eaten yet?" she asked, as though today was as mundane as any other date.

"Surprisingly, I haven't had much of an appetite," Lex responded, dryly as usual.

"You shouldn't worry so much," Sigrdríf replied as they started down the bridge that connected the guard's district to the City Isle, "You'll get wrinkles that way."

Lex rolled his eyes. The corners of Sigrdríf's mouth twitched slightly. She spoke again, this time in a very different tone. "Don't worry, imperator. You'll win."

Her voice didn't have the air of playful mockery as it normally did. The way she framed the statement left absolutely no doubt in her voice, as though she already knew how this day would play out. Lex cast her an uncertain glance, but decided not to comment. Sigrdríf was, as usual, unreadable to him.

* * *

The Arboretum had changed drastically for this event. Once again, a large scaffold had been constructed, much like the one that was used for the Sun's Rest speech, however, it was more rectangular than the one previous. In the center there were a large amount of seats arranged in a massive semi-circle around two podiums, apparently for the Elder Council and the candidates, respectively. To either side of this there were a hastily set up, cloth-walled structures, which allowed both Lex and Servius to have a degree of privacy before the ordeal began. The area was crawling with security, along with the early risers who had come to pick out good locations to watch the spectacle. More room was reserved for this than any other event Lex could remember—even the Arena had less seating capacity. Sigrdríf apparently caught on to what Lex was thinking about. "They say more people will come to this debate than any other event in the century, coronations included. All of Tamriel will be watching today."

Lex frowned. "Indeed…"

The two made their way towards Lex's tent. The Imperial moved swiftly, trying to ignore the hundreds of expectant gazes boring in on him. Sigrdríf kept pace. "I certainly hope you're ready," she muttered under her breath.

Lex glanced at her. "Haven't we already discussed this?"

Sigrdríf didn't return the look. "_Assumptions,_imperator," she replied in a whisper, just in time to stop before she collided into the Lady Flyte, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

The Breton gave Lex an excited curtsy as she gestured for him to continue walking. "It's the big day!" she chimed, "The day we've been waiting for! All of our efforts come down to this. You did read the material I gave to you, I take?"

"Yes," Lex said, only paying half-attention.

"Oh, good! I was worried at first, but—well, never mind. What's important is that everything goes according to plan. I've learned much last night, Imperator. The Elder Council actually backs you as a body, but the public is leaning slightly towards Servius. If you can just even out the masses' minds during this session, victory is as good as ours."

Lex nodded in return. They had arrived at the scaffold, and Lex quickly ascended into his makeshift waiting area. It was comfortable enough for a candidate, as he could tell from the handful of other people who had beaten him here. The young shopkeeper was helping himself to one of the fruits that had been provided for Lex. Meanwhile, Kirania was spread out on a seat in the corner of the room, in the midst a light and seemingly restless sleep. Lex sat down and closed his eyes. He heard Lady Flyte sit down nearby. "You are fully prepared?" she asked again.

He nodded once more, without opening his eyes. Lady Flyte seemed less than convinced. "Well, we still have a few hours," she said in a tone more befitting a professor than a lady, "We might as well review."

The Imperator withheld a sigh. Soon he was too assaulted by questions to notice Sigrdríf slip out of the room for a few minutes, leaving without a word. She returned promptly and calmly took a seat at Lex's side, smiling softly at his stiff and mechanical responses to Lady Flyte's questions. Lex wasn't sure how long he had been sitting, although he heard the din of the growing crowd become louder and louder as the ultimate hour drew closer. A man put his head into the room and looked about once. "Lady Lynette Flyte?" he queried.

Lady Flyte looked over towards him with a frown. "Yes?"

He entered fully and bowed. He was dressed like a simple courier. "Message for you, my lady."

"Oh," Lady Flyte said, her frown dissipating, "Well, very good. Please hand it to me."

The courier shook his head once. "It must, of course, be delivered in private."

Lady Flyte gave a frustrated sigh. "Father…" she muttered under her breath, "Oh, very well. But we need to make this quick, understand?"

She left the room with an irritable look on her face. As soon as she was gone, Lex closed his eyes again. Sigrdríf leaned over towards him. "Are you feeling all right, sir?" she asked.

"I'm fine."

"Well, in that case, look over there."

Lex opened his eyes to see Sigrdríf gesturing towards Kirania, who still looked restless in her sleep. The general gave a small frown. "Look at the poor girl. She seems horrid. It's like she hasn't gotten a good night's sleep in days."

Lex gave her a curious glance. "It isn't like you to be so concerned over Kirania like that."

Sigrdríf gave him a look of feigned indignation. "How could you say such things? She's like a sister to me."

The Imperator groaned and started to lean back again. Before he could, he felt a hand on his shoulder. "To be serious, sir, perhaps you should talk to her," Sigrdríf said, her voice no longer merry, "She's worked very hard for you, and has asked for nothing in return. The least you could do is check in on her. It'd be the loyal thing to do."

Lex opened his eyes and looked over towards Kirania. Now that he thought about it, she had been the one who had stood next to him the longest. He had gotten so wrapped up in public appearances and prearranged speeches had had almost forgotten that. He stood slowly and walked over to the Bosmer. As he left his chair, a small, dark smile flashed quickly over Sigrdríf's face, but vanished as soon as it had arrived. Lex arrived next to Kirania and looked down at her with a bemused half-smile. He nudged her shoulder once, and to his surprise she bolted upright, almost terrified. She looked up at him and slowly settled down. Lex shook his head. "Every time I speak to you lately you seem as though I'm going to attack. Are you sure you're fine?"

Kirania glanced at Sigrdríf instinctively before looking back to Lex. She put on a smile. "I'm fine, sir. Really."

The imperator didn't seem convinced, but didn't press the point. The noise of the crowd was growing louder and louder. Kirania moved some of the fabric that composed the walls and looked outside. "It's almost time," she said softly.

Lex nodded. He looked at her appraisingly. "About that, guardswoman," he began slowly.

Kirania looked back over to him. He thought for a moment before speaking. "You've… Proven to be one of my truest friends over the course of this year, and you've done more for me than I could've ever possibly asked you to do. And so…" he continued with an unusual reflectiveness, "I wish for you to stand next to me during these debates."

She blinked once in surprise. "M-Me?" she stammered, "Wouldn't you rather take Sigrdríf? I'm just a nobody at this point."

Lex shook his head. "Famous or no, you've supported me. I want you at my side here, at the end."

Kirania's surprise gave way to a genuinely touched smile. She nodded. "Okay, then," she replied softly, "I'll stand with you."

"Good," Lex said, "Then you might as well get ready, as we'll be heading out any moment now."

Lady Flyte reentered the room, nervously tugging at one of her braids. "It's almost time," she called out, "Ocato has already begun to speak. It'll be any moment when—"

The lady was cut off by the tolling of bells. Without any delay, Lex strode off towards the platform, with Kirania following at his side. The lady paled. "Why are you going…?" she began, but received no response from the Bosmer.

She groaned in irritation and collapsed into a nearby chair, next to Maro. She glanced to the young man. "Why is it that despite my careful planning, people always seem to think that they have somehow made a better course of action without so much as telling me?"

Maro shrugged. "You sound like Varnado when you talk like that, my lady."

Lynette frowned, but eased her expression after a moment. She didn't immediately respond, but looked back to Maro, who was standing up. "You don't need to call me that, you know," she said in an awkward and hasty manner.

The Imperial seemed confused. "What do you mean?"

"My name," Lynette added, almost about to bite at her nail, "My name is Lyn, you know. You can call me that."

A flash of realization went over Maro's face. "I understand."

"Good," Lynette added, now blushing herself, "Now, let's watch, shall we? I want to see this."

Maro nodded and offered a hand to his friend to help her from her seat and watch this, the ultimate act of the candidacy.

* * *

Erasmus Servius seemed completely at peace. Habasi looked over him warily. She had assumed that even he would be at least a little anxious before this event. The general, however, didn't seem worried at all. He leaned against a large beam on his end of the scaffold with his eye closed—he almost seemed as though he were napping. The Khajiit found it totally bizarre. "Aren't you concerned?" she asked, glancing out of their small private space and out onto the spectators.

Servius slowly opened his eye. "Should I be?"

"This is the end," Habasi replied, turning to face him, "This evening, one way or another, everything will be decided."

A quick, dangerous smile flashed across Servius face. "'Or another', indeed," he repeated softly. He brushed such thoughts aside. "Regardless, there's really nothing to be concerned about. I'm fully prepared for this. It would be silly to get myself worked up now."

This response didn't satisfy her. "Do you think you will succeed here?" Habasi asked, looking him over.

"Naturally."

"How certain are you, then?"

Servius closed his eye. "Sixty-percent sure," he said casually.

Habasi's eyes widened. "_Sixty _percent? To be so calm with such odds…!"

The general shrugged. "I've faced worse. And besides, by the time the sun sets, I will be emperor."

At the last sentence, Servius' voice changed. He made the statement with such simple, easy assurance that it sounded neither predictory nor self-aggrandizing. It was as though he already knew how the day's events would unfold, and his victory was totally certain. The tone made Habasi glance at him suspiciously, but before she could speak there was a great clamor from outside. The bells had rung, and the debate was about to start. Servius pushed himself off the beam and stretched his body out. "About time. Now I finally get to see what this little city-boy is capable of," he said as he walked towards the exit.

"Don't get too brash," Habasi said, watching him appraisingly.

Servius smirked in response. "Didn't I tell you?" he said before slipping out of sight, "I won't lose."

With that, he was gone. Habasi remained silent, then slowly crept to where she could peek out and watch the proceedings. Servius now had to prove that he was as skilled as he was assured. This was the final battle, after all, and here even the Man from Argonia would not be allowed second chances.

* * *

The first thing Lex noticed when he exited his tent was the sea of spectators which had flooded the entire district. Their dull roar had begun to subside now that they could see that the two candidates had taken the stage. The imperator didn't look at them for long. It wasn't that he was nervous: in fact, he felt an odd calm that surprised even himself, despite being in front of these countless strangers. He looked to his left, where the numerous seats had been taken up by the Elder Council, the highest and most visible being High Chancellor Ocato's. He glanced forward. In front of him strode Erasmus Servius, who was now a far cry from the renegade general he had met in Civello's office. Servius' armor now was flawless in construction and care, and his posture and gait showed a calm, easy confidence. A small, unconcerned smile was perched on his face. He walked over to a small podium, his single steel-colored eye never wavering off Lex. The Imperator stopped in front of his own podium and looked towards his companion. Kirania's mouth had opened in shock as she looked over the colossal crowd, but when she noticed Lex's attention she quickly tried to hide such amazement. Ocato looked over both Imperials, and then nodded his head. "You two, shake hands," he said, his voice's strength bolstered by magical means to ring over the entire district.

Lex and Servius walked towards each other. Lex offered his hand first, and Servius grasped it. The imperator was surprised—he had half-expected Servius to attempt to crush his hand. On the contrary, the general's grasp was firm, yet not to the point where it was uncomfortable. Servius smirked towards Lex. "Let the best man win, eh?" he scoffed, too softly to be heard by anyone but Lex.

Lex narrowed his eyes. The crowd roared in a resounding cheer, and the two parted, returning to their podiums. Ocato gestured for the crowd to be silent. "Now, it is time for these two men to introduce themselves. Gentlemen, if you would be so kind…"

Servius spoke first. "General Erasmus Servius, Mirkwood XIIth Legion, as per the recommendation of the East Empire Company." he called out, complete with a proper military salute. He, too, had a voice amplified over the masses.

Lex spoke in turn. "Guard Captain Hieronymus Lex, by the recommendation of Legion Commander Giovanni Civello," he called out.

Ocato glanced towards Kirania. "And the Wood Elf to your side…?"

"This is Guardswoman Kirania, a veteran of the Battle of Cormaris Lake and a companion of mine."

Ocato still looked unconvinced, but before he could speak, Servius beat him to it. "I have no complains, chancellor," he said amicably, "As a fellow soldier, I know that the bonds forged on the field of battle are the purest and strongest forms of relationships that can form between anyone. I'm sincerely touched by the gesture."

Lex, Kirania, and Ocato all seemed surprised by this, but the Altmer took in stride. "Very well, if General Servius allows it, I have no complaints," he said, before starting on his prepared speech, "The two of you stand here as the last candidates who have made it through this long process, both competing for the highest office on the continent. While your positions on the issues of the day have been demonstrated before, the Elder Council has seen fit to conduct this one, final hearing to both finalize our decision as well as to educate the public on your intended courses of action. I take it that you are both fully prepared?"

The two didn't respond. There was no need. Lex had all of his attentions focused on Erasmus Servius, a man who reveled in cruelty and had no qualms with bloodshed—a man who was morally unfit to lead the nation. Servius regarded Lex with a seriousness which surprised his foe, not taking the oft-mocked captain as anything less than an ultimate adversary. The crowd, the council, the pressure: none of this existed, only their duel. A member of the Elder Council stood, this one a Dunmer, and began to speak. "General Servius, we are all aware of your actions in southern Morrowind as well as the 'pacification' of Narsis, which was put to the torch in what more than one publication dubbed, 'The Rape of Narsis'. Such brutal tactics are unusual, and not recommended by standard legionary procedures. I would like to know why you resorted to such barbarism, and why any citizen should feel comfortable with such a decision."

He stood looking rather satisfied with his accusation. The crowd didn't share his indignation: Morrowind garnered little sympathy from anyone not native to the region nowadays. Servius looked slowly towards the Dunmer, his smirk ever-present, and then looked back to Lex, making eye contact with the imperator. "I still fully support my actions. Imperial policy has been altogether too soft with Morrowind, from the ancient past to the immediate present. Because we did not crush them originally under the unification that created this era, they cultivated a rebellious spirit that caused this war in the first place. Furthermore, we decided to make concessions to _them, _allowing such atrocities as slavery and the 'legal' assassins of the Morag Tong," he bellowed, clenching his fist for dramatic effect, "One might question my methods, but it only takes a glimpse at the slave markets Narsis once used to _boast _to realize that my actions have been nothing short of righteous! The enemies of the Empire plot to destroy her, and I will purge any faction that attempts to disrupt the peace Cyrodiil maintains over the Tamriel!"

His fiery words made the crowd react as he knew they would, shouting their approval to the general. Servius smiled over the crowd, but still had time to give Lex a single, challenging look. The Dunmer councilor looked offended, and chose to petition to Lex. "Imperator, do you _agree _with the general's carnage—?"

The Dunmer's words were almost unintelligible over the sound of booing from a crowd who obviously saw the councilor as a sore loser and a poor sport. Slaughter was apparently fine with the people. Lex blinked, and in the space of the moment, two distinct memories flared within his mind.

His mother. _What is an arena? Little one, an arena is a horrible place where people watch the suffering of others. It has no place in the schedule of a righteous person._

His father. _Remember this, Hieronymus. There is a moral core to the people that must be preserved. Crime in any form distorts this, and thus it must be eliminated before it can rot the innate purity of the Cyrodiilic people._

"No," Lex said. The crowd quickly drew silent, and an unnatural still fell upon the entire district. Ocato's face became very surprised, and almost confused. Servius' smile widened like a snake moving in for the kill. Lex was sure that behind him, Lady Flyte was tearing at her hair.

"I am not student of history, but I know that when Morrowind was annexed, the peaceful nature of the process was not due to necessity, but out of the Divine Talos' mercy. As General Servius said, we of Cyrodiil carry the difficult burden to maintain peace over Tamriel, but this peace is not only our own. The Empire exists for Tamriel, not Cyrodiil. By being magnanimous, we show our legitimacy to the provinces. We show that we alone do not devolve into petty regional conflicts in times of trouble. Through mercy, we conquer."

The words came naturally to him, but at the same time, Lex was surprised. 'Mercy?' he thought to himself, 'Did I really just say that… ?'

In Lex's ideal world, this statement would have resounded to the people. Perhaps it would even be a poetic moment, where slowly the crowd begins to clap and show its approval. That didn't happen. The silence remained, heavy with judgment and disappointment.

_People are rotten, Hieronymus_. Civello. Perhaps that was indeed the case. Rage threatened to invade him, but he glanced once to Kirania. He was surprised with what he found. Her eyes were dancing with an expression he had never seen on her face before. She was proud of him, deeply and thoroughly impressed. Civello's words rang again in his mind. _But I believe in the redeeming powers of civilization. _

The Dunmer councilor looked out to Lex. He noticed how tired the elf looked, with a sorrow in his eyes that can only be known by someone who had suddenly lost something incredibly dear to them. He gave a single, approving nod to Lex, and then returned to his seat. Still, silence. Another man, this one an Imperial, took the initiative with the tone of the debates now so against Lex. "Imperator Lex," he began with a condescending edge, "I have long wished to discuss an issue that relates to your previous position as Guard Captain of the Imperial City. For months you focused your efforts into fighting a man known as the 'Gray Fox', a man which any reasonable person would've written off as fiction. Your relentless attacks on him eventually forced you to be officially reprimanded. This happened less than one year ago. I want to know why we should trust the most important station in the world to a man who fights fairy-tales, because I certainly would not enjoy another mad emperor leading the country, especially in such a critical year."

Some people in the audience scoffed. Others were still silent. All, however, were starting to doubt Lex. The attention started to affect him: the disillusionment felt as an almost physical weight. All the while, the man in front of him looked as confident as he did when he entered: Erasmus Servius was gloating in Lex's hardships, just as he did when he burned the people of Narsis. The Imperator's body shook once, but a moment later he felt something he never had before. His hand was suddenly grasped. He looked to his side and saw Kirania. She, too, was staring down Servius with a previously absent intensity. She squeezed his hand tightly. Lex looked back to Servius, steeling his resolve. "Throughout my time as captain, and service as imperator, I have become accustomed to being the sole man who needs to make important decisions. When I fought the Gray Fox, many found me foolish, and because I did not catch him, I cannot prove that my actions were correct. But I was likewise questioned when I chose to fight at Cormaris, and there I was victorious. However, I have always made every decision with the sole aim of helping the people of the empire. Even if my methods are unorthodox, they have produced results in the past, and I am sure they will in the future. I shall not apologize for the Gray Fox, but that was the past, and now I am only concerned with the present."

He felt has hand squeezed again. The councilman sneered at him. "Actually, you brought up another point of mine, imperator. You committed a huge amount of resources to an almost suicidal battle at Cormaris which was almost certain to fail, and yet—"

"Hold it!"

The councilman turned in shock towards Erasmus Servius. The general was staring at the man with intense venom. "If I may be so bold, Imperator Lex's actions in Cormaris produced success. As a fellow general, I won't allow someone who has never fought the luxury of criticizing another soldier's actions. You can never understand what the imperator thought," he barked, "So don't even try."

The councilman sank to his seat defeated to the sound of roaring applause. Servius, however, didn't seem quite as content as he had before—had Lex not known any better, he would've thought Servius was honestly offended. Wasting no time, a third member of the council arose, this one a Redguard woman. She looked over both men critically. "I find myself inclined to agree with the candidates," she announced, "As it is far more important to salvage the empire from ruin than to pick at every previous flaw these men have committed. Therefore, I want to know how both of you intend to preserve the empire before it is too late."

Lex and Servius glared at each other again. A brief second passed, then Servius began to speak. "Military might has always been the cement that has kept our nation together. That being said, might can be the only thing that will maintain our cohesion. I intend to reenergize the legion. We'll have encampments in every region of every province. Such power will make certain that rebellion will be impossible, and such power will stop war from ever breaking out in Tamriel ever again."

The Redguard was unconvinced. "And how will we fund such an increase in our legions?"

"Morrowind," Servius replied simply. "We'll simply liquefy the possessions of this rogue province and dismantle the private armies used by the Great Houses. Not only will this bolster our funds, but Morrowind has become so weak that this is now the most ideal moment to nip any future resistance it has at the bud. We'll simultaneously increase our strength while we sap theirs, and begin a through process of Imperialization that will mold the region into a loyal ally as opposed to a dangerous rival."

The crowd seemed to accept this answer, with many voicing approval. Lex wasn't among them. Servius caught on, and tilted his head upward, towards Lex. "I take it that you don't approve, imperator," he called out.

"No," Lex replied, "I don't."

Servius' eye flashed once. "Then would you kindly tell me what will keep this empire together, if not might."

Lex's glare was unwavering. "Law," he said, strongly and firmly.

The crowd was about to voice its disapproval, but before it could do so, Servius shook his head with a sympathetic smile. "That's very like you, imperator. But I do admire that about you, your dedication to law. It's very rare in this day and age, and I'm glad I have an adversary who understands that." The crowd drew silent, with all eyes now on Servius. "This makes what I need to say now even worse than it originally was going to be. I had hoped not to bring it up, but I think it is unfair to keep it from you," he began, garnering confused looks from just about everyone.

"What are you talking about," Lex responded, but couldn't fully keep the curiosity from his voice.

"Imperator," Servius began respectfully, "Many insulted you for your unwavering belief in the Thieves' Guild's existence. But I must say, I actually believe in it, too." A loud sound from the crowd threatened to cut him off, but the general gestured for them to be silent. "Indeed, the Guild does _indeed _exist, and I can present any needed proofs to _any _party questioning these claims after this debate has ended."

Lex felt Kirania let go of his hand, but he hardly registered it, so surprised by Servius' words. Ocato, too, stared at the general in disbelief. "General Servius, what is the meaning of this?"

Servius sighed, this time in a manner Lex could tell was fully feigned. "I learned this through a defector from the Thieves' Guild itself. She told me much, but the worst of it even I had trouble believing. However, I am compelled to accept it, however outlandish it might seem at first. I can assure you, though, it is Akatosh's truth. That woman standing next to you, imperator, you know her?" he said, almost reluctantly.

Lex scowled in anger. "If you are to lobby any accusations against a _veteran—_"

"I must have comprehensive evidence," Servius said, taking a large sheet of parchment from his side. "But I have here in my very hands signed, _irrefutable _evidence that the woman known as 'Kirania' is, in fact, and undercover Thieves' Guild operative who earned your trust only to leak sensitive information to Armand Christophe himself!" he shouted, pointing to Kirania for dramatic effect.

The crowd absolutely exploded with commotion. Lex didn't even register the statement at first, and quickly looked to Kirania for an explanation. He found none. Her face was evidence enough. Her eyes were wide and frightened, her lips slightly pursed, and her body trembling. Lex had seen that look before, but only during one specific situation—When he had caught criminals in the act.

Lex's jaw dropped.

Vaguely, in the distance, he could make out Ocato's cries, trying to bring the crowd to order.

The words were in vain as the masses cried out time and time again, condemning Lex and his greatest failure.


	36. The Grand Debate, Part II

"You're getting _killed _out there!" Lady Flyte howled, nearly snapping her parasol in anger.

Lex didn't respond to her; it was as though he was no longer paying attention to the world around him. He had spoken very little since he left the podium (Chancellor Ocato had called a brief recess after Servius' revelation in an attempt to settle down the crowd a few minutes ago). After the first half, Kirania was promptly arrested, and Lex made no effort to prevent it. Sigrdríf was sitting at Lex's side, but she also hadn't spoken. This wasn't of grave consequence, as Lady Flyte was rambling enough for the three of them. "This is beyond my worst case scenario!" she moaned, "How could I have stumbled into this so naively!?"

Lex clenched his fist, although his brooding expression didn't change. "She betrayed me," he said, simply and suddenly.

Lady Flyte gave him a confused and exasperated look. Sigrdríf, on the other hand, offered an understanding smile. "I had my suspicions," she said softly, "But I had no idea that she would actually do something like this…"

The lady gaped at the two in disbelief. "What is this?" she asked loudly, "Did I miss the time when we all decided to talk about our _feelings!? _What has gotten in to you!? You are an _imperator! _You are at the _Grand Debates!_ We literally don't have any time for this nonsense!"

Lex gave a pained sigh and put a hand over his face. After a brief second, Sigrdríf leaned over and set a gentle hand on his shoulder. "To be fair, sir, Lady Flyte has a point. This is how Servius operates—setting these little snares to tire and weaken his opponent, only striking when he knows that you've become too weak to defend yourself. There is a time to mourn, be it for people or friendships, but it is not now."

Several more seconds passed before Lex dropped his hand and opened his eyes. They had taken an almost fatalistic dullness. "Very well," he said, his voice lacking spirit, "What are our options?"

Lady Flyte bit at her nail. "I'm not positive, but when Maro arrives, I'm sure he'll give us a little more information on where we stand—ah, here he is."

Maro Rufus entered the room so quickly he nearly tripped. "It's bad," he reported quickly, "Really, really bad. The guys who liked Lex are doubting him, and the guys who backed Servius are gloating. If we don't do something soon…"

"… It's over," Sigrdríf said, finishing Maro's sentence for him.

Lady Flyte nodded and closed her eyes, thinking furiously. "Keeping all this in mind," she began, "It will be impossible for the imperator to convince the crowd that he is qualified in time. There is too little time, and the mob is too emotional and fickle to way rationally. Our sole chance is to appeal to the Elder Council and try to slander Servius as much as we can. That's our best, and maybe sole, option."

Lex glanced at her, unimpressed. "That's hardly honorable."

"I'm afraid honor is a luxury we can no longer afford, sir," Lady Flyte offered mildly.

Sigrdríf stood up. "I'll go with him," she said insistently.

Lady Flyte put a hand up. "No. Absolutely not. This is how we got in this mess in the first place."

"Don't compare Kirania to me so lightly," Sigrdríf said cordially, but with a definite edge to her voice, "She was an unknown recruit. _I_ am a distinguished general. Hopefully my image will put a little shine back on to the imperator's, and even if not, I'm not at all embarrassed to attack Servius in ways that Hieronymus won't."

"I don't particularly like the idea of _anyone _going out with the imperator," Lady Flyte replied, "But it's not really my call to make."

Both women looked over to Lex expectantly, who still seemed dazed. When he realized that he was being watched, he shook his head and gestured to Sigrdríf. "Do as you please."

Sigrdríf smiled broadly, much to Lady's Flyte's chagrin. The group heard the sound of bells tolling and it was Lex's turn to stand. "It's time," he said, his voice more unsteady than it had been in the past.

With Sigrdríf at his side, Lex left the room and exited to the scaffold. Maro looked over to Lady Flyte. She didn't look well—her face was extremely worried, and her body was trembling. "I'm trying hard, you know," she whispered to Maro, her voice quivering, "I just really want it to be enough. I _can't _lose here."

Maro gave her his best smile. "Don't give up yet," he replied. "We still have hope."

"I know," said Lynette, "But it just makes me so mad… Because I know while I'm standing here in danger, right across from me, Servius is laughing…"

* * *

Meanwhile, right across from Lady Flyte, Servius was napping. Habasi looked at him stupefied. The general was leaning against a beam again, his face completely neutral. He did so immediately after he entered the room, without so much as a word to Habasi. She couldn't fathom how a man so close to absolute power could be so thoroughly relaxed about it.

She suddenly heard some noise coming from behind her and quickly turned around. Armand Christophe had come to visit, and he did not look pleased. "I thought we had a deal, Servius," he said, staring down the general.

Servius slowly opened his eye and glanced idly to the Redguard. "As did I."

"What are you doing, then!?" Christophe all but yelled, "Professing to the whole damn world that the Guild exists! Do you have any idea what this is going to do to our business?"

"Yes, I do." replied Servius, standing up straight, "It'll make your profession a little bit more difficult, but not overly so. Stacey's faction existed in the open and flourished for many years, and I can honestly tel you that I still don't intend to actually _do _anything about your guild as emperor. That being said, if memory serves, our agreement was one where we worked together to contain Lex, not one where I went out of my way to aid in your affairs."

"That's not the point, Servius—"

"That's exactly the point," Servius interjected, "My actions are entirely my own, and you should be flattered that I'm so much as allowing any of them to conform to your petty little ambitions. Do not find me ungrateful, for I appreciate your support and shall remember it, but at the same time do not think that your agenda supersedes my own."

Christophe looked at Habasi, still as angry as ever. "And you're completely fine with this?" he growled.

Habasi stared at Christophe without a word. He spent a few seconds in an intense glare, trying to determine in Habasi had fallen so far that she would forsake the guild that she had spent her life working for simply to get some petty vengeance against him. However, the Khajiit's eyes were cold and soulless—whatever she was planning was locked far away inside her mind, out of his reach. Servius gave Christophe a predatory smile. "Don't look so dour," he said, "I've used the information about your guild to force Lex into a very uncomfortable corner. He needs to be exceptionally crafty if he wants to ay chance to succeed. Believe me, it is better to have Lex unquestionably removed than to maintain your difficult shadowy operation, which will be revealed sooner or later."

The sound of bells interrupted him. Servius renewed his grin. "Just watch. I'll make sure the sacrifice of your secrecy was not in vain. By the time I finish on that stage, the emperor _will _be decided."

Servius gave a single laugh before returning outside. Christophe clenched his fist tightly in rage before looking towards Habasi, his eyes burning. "This is _not _what I had in mind when I assigned you to this," he hissed towards the Khajiit.

Habasi shrugged neutrally. She seemed totally dispassionate towards Christophe now: there wasn't even hate left in her gaze. She walked towards the side of the room herself and looked out, no longer deeming the doyen worthy of her time. Christophe wasted no more time in leaving the room. Servius didn't seem adverse to altering his deals, and the Redguard could only pray at this point that he wouldn't go any further…

* * *

Lex returned to the podium to the sound of Ocato trying yet again to silence the crowd. It was a less than auspicious start. He glanced to Sigrdríf, who had a confidant smile on her face. To the front, Servius awaited him, complete with his mocking, arrogant grin. The trip to the podium felt different that the first time. Before he strode with courageous resolve, ready to engage in this final confrontation with the Man from Argonia. Now he walked like a man condemned, his steps heavy and each one feeling a like a lifetime. But it would be done. One way or another, he was going to finish this. Many in the audience and even the Elder Council looked on him in amusement and disbelief. 'Just like old times', he thought bitterly.

The crowd eventually quieted, at least to the point at where the council could be heard clearly. "I see you've a new woman, imperator," a voice called out from the council.

Lex couldn't tell who said it, but before he could speak, the powerful voice of Sigrdríf called out over the crowd, not needing any amplification to be heard. "Indeed he does. Sigrdríf Battle-Singer, General of the Skyrim VIIth, at your service. As long, of course," she added, "That the good general has no opposition?" she added with a smile to Servius.

"I have none," Servius responded calmly, "Its common knowledge that General Sigrdríf is a good, loyal woman. In fact, I think her being there is a sign of good judgment."

There was sporadic laughing from the crowd. Ocato sighed with the look of a man whose propriety has been offended and wants everyone to know it. "Gentlemen," he cried out insistently, "I recall that Councilman Shatal had posed a question on keeping the Empire intact, and that Imperator Lex was about to give his response to the question."

"Yes," Servius said, "And I believe he said that the proper cement for a crumbling empire was 'law', am I not correct?"

More laughter from the masses. Ocato gave another sigh. "Yes, it was something along those lines. Imperator Lex…?"

Lex didn't respond immediately. His mind wasn't firing like it had been, he couldn't even recall why he had said 'law' in the first place. A few epoch-like seconds passed as Lex tried to come up with a response, although precious little was coming forth. Sigrdríf stirred at his side. "Speak up, sir," she whispered.

Still more time passed. The crowd began to stir, even more surprised at Lex's lack of response. Ocato frowned toward the Imperial. "Imperator Lex? Your response?"

Lex still couldn't find any words. More noise started to emanate from the crowd, disrupting Lex's thoughts like a swarm of locusts. He heard, vaguely, Sigrdríf calling to him, trying to bring him to some sort of action. The Elder Council, too, began to speak amongst itself, wondering and scoffing. He tried more and more to think of _something, _but the more he tried, the faster the thoughts fled from him. Oddly enough, he couldn't even feel _bad _about it. There was a part of his mind that was disappointed in his floundering; however another portion felt that this was just the way it was going to be, to an almost cathartic result. He didn't want this in the least. Perhaps Kirania, the little traitor, was right after all. He closed his eyes and embraced the din of the crowd, now ready to give in to defeat—he had had enough…

"Hold on!" a new, powerful voice cried forth from the crowd.

The masses suddenly went silent. A heartbeat later, it began to rumble in a new confusion, Lex having been fully forgotten. Even Ocato gave a bewildered glance towards the voice. "Who speaks?" he asked out towards the crowd.

Three figures emerged from the sea of spectators and walked onto the scaffold. One was an armored Redguard who was all but dragging the other, an emaciated, weak Argonian. The third was a tall, regal looking man with a proud face. His robes billowed majestically as he assumed the stage, much to Lex's surprise. Servius, on the other hand, lost the smile he had been harboring, now looking openly concerned. Ocato blinked in surprise as he looked down upon the man. "King Helseth? This is most unusual! What is the meaning of this?"

Helseth Hlaalu looked up to Ocato with a diplomatic smile. "My apologizes for arriving late. However, I come bearing an important development which I dare say might influence the council's decision on the emperor."

Servius scowled. "I protest. This is completely against regulation."

Sigrdríf gave a bright laugh. "Come now, general. I think that we should hear King Helseth out. After all, if we don't consider every point, we might appoint the wrong man to rule. Aren't I right, Chancellor Ocato?" she said, giving a dazzling smile to the chancellor.

Servius' eyes narrowed as he stared at Sigrdríf in a mixture of surprise and anger. The Nord merely smiled in return, looking as happy as she always had been. Lex looked at both Helseth and Servius in total confusion, not having expected this in the least. The crowd murmured to itself, as though it, too, was uncertain of what action to take. Ocato sighed and thought for a moment. "I… I suppose that I shall allow this," he said slowly, as though he were unsure of himself, "I hope, King Helseth, that your information is suitably pressing to warrant an interruption during the debates."

Helseth bowed. "Believe me, Excellency, this very well might change the very face of the discussion," he began, looking at Servius pointedly. "I will not waste the Elder Council's important time with anything less than vital. I would ask for the council to think back to the late autumn of this very year. There was a certain incident involving three simultaneous assassination attempts: one against myself, a second against Lady Lynette Flyte of Daggerfall, and a final one against Legion Commander Giovanni Civello. Unfortunately, Commander Civello did not survive this. The perpetrators of these heinous crimes were not caught, leading to mystery and suspicion over the true identity of Giovanni Civello's killer. I intend to put that mystery to rest, right now!" he said, ending in a dramatic flourish.

The audience started to chat among themselves eagerly, intrigued by the growing scandal. Chancellor Ocato seemed less than pleased, but unwilling to end this dialogue now that it had begun. Helseth gestured to the Argonian that the Redguard had dragged on to the scaffold. "This man is a convicted criminal, found wasting away in a skooma-den in an unsavory portion of the City. Upon pressing, we discovered that this man was no mere sugar-tooth: indeed, this very man was a trained assassin, who by his own hand murdered Giovanni Civello on that fated day!"

Servius slammed his hand on his podium. "If so, why haven't you killed him yet? I'll do it myself if need be!"

Helseth shook his head. "No, General Servius, this tale isn't concluded yet. This pathetic creature is only an assassin; therefore, he was acting for a separate party. But who would have reason to kill the legion commander? What man would kill the soldier who kept the streets of the Imperial City safe every night? What _snake_ would murder a hero? I asked this poor, wretched beast, and he indeed provided an answer!"

The crowd was starting to buzz even more now, thoroughly entertained by Helseth's show. Servius was nearly shaking in rage, and even Lex seemed to shake off his lethargy in interest. Sigrdríf gave a small smile and closed her eye, apparently pleased with the turn of events. Ocato leaned forward in his seat, his face now deadly serious. "King Helseth, are you implying…?"

"I _imply_ nothing," Helseth responded, "In fact, I need no longer talk. The assassin can speak and in his own words put an end to the mystery. So come, lizard, confess! Who was the man who ordered you to kill Giovanni Civello? Who ordered his assassination?" he said, complete with dramatic flair.

The Argonian looked up and wheezed—the sound was enhanced to be heard over the crowd. The thousands had grown dead silent, their uncountable eyes all focused on the withered beastfolk. He attempted again to speak, the voice echoing across the Arboretum. "It was… It was the commander… The commander of… Legion XII…"

The last two words took a moment to sink into the crowd, which immediately exploded like a cannon. Ocato turned swiftly around to Servius. "General Servius, you will explain yourself!"

Servius had closed his eye. His face was neutral at the surface, but a layer below it Lex thought that he could make out a deep, churning anger—much like the grinding of tectonic plates deep below the ground: unnoticeable at the surface but unspeakably destructive when at that sightless level. His eye snapped open, and the general quickly strode off the platform and towards the room where Habasi waited. To the large crowd, this was more than equal to a confession. The masses burst into an unintelligible cacophony, demanding that Ocato take some measure to stop the murderer. Lex could hear Sigrdríf laugh quietly—he himself was taken completely off guard by Helseth, even if the king's accusations weren't directed against him.

A guard walked over towards Ocato and whispered something into his ear. Ocato shook his head no. Even the Elder Council itself had begun to break down into numerous, varied conversations. The High Chancellor looked over to Lex. "Imperator, you are dismissed," he said before sharply trying to get the crowd to revert back into some remote form of order.

He looked over to Sigrdríf who ran a hand through her hair. "Dodged an arrow there, didn't we?"

Suddenly, Lex actually realized that Servius had just fled the podium escaping murder charges. He was in no position to win the candidacy. Somehow, it had all come to pass that he had actually succeeded. Even if he hadn't deserved it, Lex was the de facto winner of the Grand Debates. Despite this new knowledge, the nervousness and uncertainty deep in Lex's chest remained.


	37. Arise, Akulakhan!

Erasmus Servius had wasted no time in leaving the Arboritum following Helseth's accusations. Part of him found it almost ironic: of all the horrible things he had done in his career, the one that eventually mattered was an order that he never gave. However, the fact that Servius was being all but encouraged to leave the Imperial City worried Habasi. The Khajiit tossed occasional glances over her shoulder as they weaved through the alleyways, certain that she would see a detachment of the Royal Guard in pursuit. "Don't be so skittish," the general said to her without turning his head, "Ocato won't dare move against me."

Habasi looked towards Servius. Despite losing to Lex, he didn't seem too angry (she had expected some sort of fury). On the contrary, he seemed as composed as ever, almost even calm. His eye, however, still gleamed with a blazing intensity that was certain of a future greater than surrender to Lex, although Habasi still couldn't determine quite what that was. She scowled. "You are very bold to assume that you can just walk out of here."

"Not at all," Servius replied quickly, as though preoccupied, "I knew that this was a possibility, so I made sure to spread some of my men into the crowd. Ocato knew this. He assumed that if he tried to arrest me, I wouldn't go quietly, which caused him to worry that the troops would cause civilian casualties in the resulting chaos."

"Would they have?"

Servius didn't respond. The pair continued to walk silently through the streets. Habasi noticed the glances Servius was getting from the locals, running from a hesitant curiosity to outright fear. People whispered as soon as the general's back was turned, others pointed when they thought he couldn't see them. Despite this, Servius was still in his own world. Habasi quickened her pace to stand alongside him. "Now what will you do?"

A small grin flashed over Servius' face. "What will I do? What kind of stupid question is that? I told you, by the end of the day, I _will _be emperor."

Habasi looked at him skeptically. "The Elder Council will never allow it."

"Honestly, I never assumed that the Elder Council would've given it to me at all. They were looking for any excuse to give it to Lex without making too much public unrest. It makes perfect sense, really: Lex doesn't understand politics, and thus could be used by the council. I, on the other hand, will be used by _no one_, and the Elder Council knew this very well."

"Then how do you intend on seizing power?"

"Simple," Servius said, his grin resurfacing, "What I want, I take."

Habasi gave him an incredulous look. "You intend to 'take' it?"

"Precisely."

She made a noise akin to a laugh. "Foolishness! There is no way that anyone could seize the crown from the Elder Council—the Imperial City is impregnable even to a dedicated siege. That is common knowledge."

"Not at all," Servius responded, his voice now deadly serious, "Let's have a little thought experiment, shall we? The Imperial City has very strong defenses, true. However, think for a moment. It can only call upon three major groups when under attack: the City Watch, the Royal Guard, and the College of Battlemages. The watch is an absolute joke. The Royal Guard is skilled, but limited in number. The battlemages need to get a guild guide up and running, so the time and location of their deployment can be foreseen. Really, the manpower that this city has to defend itself at any time is actually extremely small: probably a little stronger than my legion, if one includes the battlemages."

"But they can call upon the entire Imperial Legion," Habasi said, now more serious herself.

"True, but it would take some time for any stationed legion to arrive at the Imperial City. Probably a fortnight, or maybe less if they have a very organized general."

"There you have it," Habasi added, "It would be impossible to put the City under siege. The legions would crush you while still building the tools needed to assault the walls, which in themselves would be a major, time-consuming operation."

Servius nodded. "In other words, the only way to take the City would be a lightning-fast assault."

"Which is impossible. The Council would simply blow out the bridge, and then you would somehow have to cross the lake without being destroyed from the walls."

"Unless the walls were already destroyed."

"How?" Habasi said, her voice clearly in disbelief.

Servius grinned. "You wouldn't know. If _you _could think of it, Habasi, the Elder Council most certainly would've realized it themselves and prepared contingencies, which would make such a tactic useless. A crafty, well prepared general would need to do something so audacious that it would dwarf any other similar venture in history. But, if the walls could be neutralized, a fleet quickly mustered, and the island raided in a single night, the Imperial City _could _fall. Once it did, that crafty general would have an extremely defendable location to expand outwards."

Habasi glared at Servius. "This is no longer a thought experiment."

"I see no reason to not act on it," Servius responded, "The era is crying out for a man worthy to lead it. Lex is no such specimen, and the worms on the council care more about their own power than the health of their empire. Such pathetic weakness will only sap the Empire's strength in these trying times that are awaiting us. The future is grim."

"So everyone says—"

"It is _worse,_" Servius cut in, his voice almost fatalistic, "It is far, far worse than anyone realizes, and I believe I may be the only one in Tamriel who actually understands the threat that is eminent."

Habasi's face flickered in concern. "What are you talking about? Speak plainly!"

Servius's face was serious, and he had a look in his eye that Habasi had never seen before. "I fear that the Oblivion Crisis was just a prelude to a much larger conflict. And I know that only I have the cunning, daring, and skill to lead the Empire through it. I always knew my entire life was building up to something great, but I never once thought it would be..."

"You speak in circles!"

"The revenge on the Flyte family will have to wait," he said, picking up speed, "The next crisis will need my entire focus. Finally, a labor worthy of my brilliance! This is the task I have been so waiting for!"

"Wait!" Habasi called out, trying to match his pace, "Come back!"

It was impossible, though, with Servius burning with this newfound passion. As she watched him move with such vivid intensity, then a sudden image crossed her mind. In the middle of a great, ancient forest there was a thick layer of dead, easily burnable debris on the ground, and suddenly a torch was thrown onto it. Servius was obviously the flame. She could only wonder what he was going to burn away with his brilliant, all-consuming ambition...

* * *

Lynette Flyte slowly opened her eyes. She was most uncharacteristically sitting on the floor with her back against the wall. She had a book on her lap and a slightly bad taste in her mouth. She blinked once and looked up to a man sitting nearby her at a counter, writing in an open ledger. A thoughtful look crossed her face. "I fell asleep," she announced softly.

Maro nodded, not turning from his work. "You did. Did you want me to wake you?"

"No," Lynette replied, stretching out her arms, "It's just… I don't think I've napped in months. It's actually quite nice."

"I'm glad. You've been looking very tired lately," Maro said, turning to look at her.

Lynette gave a single, bright laugh. "I suppose I have been, haven't I? Up to this point, I've been so busy countering Servius that I've barely had any time for myself. It's still sort of hard to believe that we've won… What a pleasant feeling…" she mused, sliding down a little bit. A thought crossed her mind, causing her to smile mischievously. "And I don't even have an escort: my knights must be worried sick!"

Maro smiled in return. "That's not very nice."

"Oh, boo!" Lynette responded with a pout, "I've just gotten done with all my work, so I think I deserve a little time to rest. It's not like I'll have much more time to in the near future."

"Why's that?"

"Don't be silly, Maro," Lynette said, standing up, "In a few days we'll have Imperator Lex's gala, and the coronation the day after. I hardly expected it all to happen so soon, but the Council wants an emperor on the throne before 435. Right after that, I'll be leaving to go back home."

A nervous, unhappy frown shot across Maro's face. "Leaving?"

Lynette didn't notice the look. "Well of course. I've been here for months; all my friends and retainers back home must be dying to see me again. And besides, I have duties to attend to back in Anticlere that I can't adequately perform here."

"So you're not going to spend any more time in the City…?" Maro asked, his voice soft, even hurt.

This time, Lynette noticed his tone. A small frown found its way upon her face. "Well… I mean, there's also Nanette, Maro. I want to move her away from the crowds here, to a small estate where the two of us spent much time together when we were young. Perhaps she'll… Lose her madness that has grasped her and maybe even regain her memories there. It's worth a shot, by any means."

Maro forced a smile onto his face, although his eyes didn't have their normal gleam. "Yeah, you're right. I really hope she'll get better."

Lynette didn't yet return the smile. "I will write to you, Maro. You know that."

"Of course," Maro responded with an all-too-fast nod. "I'll write, too."

A second passed as Lynette thought for a moment, biting her bottom lip slightly. She thought about biting a nail, but resisted. "You can tell me anything, you know," she said quickly.

"What?" Maro responded.

"I mean…" Lynette said slowly, thinking carefully, "If there is anything you want to tell me, Maro, you may."

Maro shook his head. "I don't follow."

Lynette sighed and put a hand to her head. "Forget it," she said, putting the subject aside. She renewed a smile. "Anyway, I suppose that I've spent a long enough time lollygagging around. I still need to finish some preparations, as well as visit Councilman Ocato and Imperator Lex later, but I should be finished with some time left in the evening. I trust you'll be free?"

Maro nodded. "Sure."

"Good!" Lynette chimed, picking up her parasol, "Then I'll see you a little later."

She left the shop without any delay. At the sound of the closing door, Maro sighed once. He slumped in his chair, supporting his head with a hand. He could see her walking away from the store from that one particular window: the same window which he had seen her leave this shop so many other times in the past. But what did it matter now? He was running out of days. Time was marching ever onward, and Maro's great desire had yet to be fulfilled. Could he even do it? It seemed so certain before, but now he wasn't so assured. Despite him being closer to her than ever before, it still felt as though they were very far away. He wished things could be less complicated.

Maro frowned. "How nostalgic," he mumbled to himself.

* * *

Where does genius end and madness begin? Habasi had asked that question numerous times since she had met Servius. He had always found a way to beat her expectations. Every time she had convinced herself that he was insane, he tempted her to take one step further down his road. Every time, often against her better judgment, she did. Every time, she became lost in the gray murkiness between right and wrong. It was a land she thought that she had spent her entire life in, but her brief time with Servius revealed horrors she never wanted to face in herself. Dark truths that _ought _to be wrong, but seemed so horribly right. It was as though her very mind and soul were being consumed by a swarm of ravenous ants, each small realization tearing at her like a pincer. Perhaps she, too, had gone mad.

But even if that indeed was the case, it didn't make what Servius was doing now any less insane. He stood with crossed arms, watching as cowled witches walked to and fro, beginning preparations for the ritual. Servius himself was leaning against a pole seemingly at ease, but Habasi was well enough acquainted with him to tell that the look in his eye betrayed his ever-turning mind. She scowled at him. "At first Habasi thought you couldn't become more insane after plotting to sack the City. She was clearly wrong."

"Every step of my plan is possible," Servius responded, "And thus I shall enact it."

"Impossible!" Habasi insisted.

"To an uncreative mind, perhaps. I will admit, no one has ever quite tried what I'm about to do, but then again, no one has ever really had the resources to do so. When I'm done, the Altmer will slap their heads in frustration that they never attempt this. Yesterday's exceptional feat becomes tomorrow's routine, after all."

"Do you truly believe that the little rock can save you?"

Servius reached to his hip and brought forth an uncut gemstone. It seemed as mundane as any other stone she had seen. Servius, however, looked upon it as though it were an artifact. "The Eye of Argonia," he stated. "The hidden, undiscoverable treasure. The progenitor of the Hist. Don't let its humble appearance fool you: future historians will write of it as they do Septim's Totem."

Habasi sneered at the general. "No single item can protect you for what you are about to do. It is impossible."

"Have you learned nothing?" Servius retorted. "_Nothing, _Habasi, is impossible. _Nothing. _Inside every man there is unlimited potential. A worthy man knows this and taps into it. That is why I, a man of only above average intellect and physical prowess, am about to make history. I already know that I can, and will, succeed."

"Fool. Daedra are different from you, especially a Prince. He is invincible."

Servius gave the Khajiit a nearly bemused smile. "Daedra, invincible? Don't make me laugh. That myth has been spread for generations, and people have accepted it with a sheep-like idiocy. Just because some scholar or mage claims that a Daedric Prince is undefeatable does not make it so."

Habasi gave him a curious look. "You attempt to fight a god: a being that could destroy you with a thought. How can you possibly have hope?"

Servius gave a dispassionate shrug. "Can a well-trained Bosmer best an Orc in combat? And can that same Orc, after years of practice, become a better thief than the Bosmer? Of course. This is the potential I was telling you about. For some reason, when I replace the example with one involving me and a Daedric Lord, people become incredulous."

"You have told Habasi that with cunning and a rock you intend to best the Prince of Plots. She has reason to distrust you."

The Imperial gave a thin smile. "I suppose you have a point. Perhaps I'll tell you my greatest advantage, then. It is a simple one, which has no obscure, metaphysical gambits. I will beat him because I fear him."

Habasi gave him a dry look. "That is your advantage?"

"Of course. Fear is one of the greatest advantages that we mortals have. Fear reminds us to always measure up our foe, and to never let down our guard. Because I know that my death is life's sole inevitability, I am constantly improving myself. Daedra? They have no fear. They reassured themselves since time immemorial that they are inherently superior to us mere mortals, and that we are nothing greater than insects to them. Perhaps so, but insects can carry powerful poison. I have every reason to believe that this Prince thinks that I am a worm, and so he will underestimate me. He thinks that I can do nothing. And by the time he realizes my own plot himself, it will be far too late to stop me. His lack of fear makes him weak."

Habasi shook her head. "That cannot possibly be enough to best him."

"And why not? It only takes a single drop of some poisons to kill, and I can assure you even those pale in comparison to my methods."

"Have you ever considered that your arrogance is a greater flaw than his lack of fear?"

Servius gave her a dark grin. "Not once."

One of the shalled women stepped forth. "Lord Servius," her voice cracked, "The preparations are complete."

Servius turned from Habasi and looked towards the witch. "Then I see no point in wasting time. Let's begin."

He began walking towards the room the witches had been frequenting. Before he could enter, Habasi stepped forward, almost defiantly. "If you fail, he will annihilate your soul."

Erasmus Servius stopped for a moment. He slowly turned his head towards Habasi. She could see him more clearly now, it seemed, than ever before. The deep scars carved into his face, making him look both horrible and somehow darkly handsome. The flecks on gray in his hair, betraying the decades holding him down. Perhaps most striking: his single, steel eye, shining like a blade: keen, unbreakable, and deadly. He gave her one, final grin. Unlike his standard one, it had a layer of sincerity she didn't expect to see. "All the more reason to succeed."

Without wasting any more time, he entered the room.

The die was cast.

* * *

With the belabored creak of an old, iron door, Hieronymus Lex entered the Bastion. To both sides were jail cells, filled with the scum of the Imperial City, from pickpockets to cutthroats. No longer clad in the armor of an Imperial Captain, he wore a flowing robe that looked almost unfitting draped over his body. He slowly began to walk down the way, scrutinizing the inhabitants of each small, cold room. Keeping pace with him at his side was General Sigrdríf. While Lex's face was driven and brooding, she had a bounce to her step which betrayed a hidden happiness.

The stale air smelled like a combination of dried sweat and crushed dreams. Most prisoners didn't bother to look at the man who was to become emperor. Other glanced at him with empty, vacant expressions, too defeated by life to really care. Eventually, though, he arrived before a cell that looked on the outside like any other. Lex knew better. He looked at its inhabitant, who was curled up on a stained cot. At last he had found the real her.

"Prisoner," he said firmly, looking down upon the thief.

She didn't verbally respond. She did, however, slowly raise her head to look up at Lex. Her eyes had a curious quality to them, perhaps defiant, perhaps regretful. When she saw the woman to Lex's side, though, they were filled with little other than unadulterated hatred. Sigrdríf sensed this, and slowly let her hip glide over to brush against the Imperator's. Lex didn't notice. For him, the world consisted only of himself, the prisoner, and the cold iron bars that separated them. "Prisoner," he repeated, his voice a chilly as the metal, "What is your name?"

The two held eye contact for almost a minute. There was a powerful energy radiating from them with an almost tangible intensity. The foul air, the low groans, the dreary dim—all were burned away between the two's gaze. Sigrdríf was nothing more than a shade as the long, dense silence weighed heavier and heavier upon their shoulders. Lex was the first to be able to cast the burden off his chest and speak. "What is your name," he insisted again, this time angrily, "Confess!"

"Methredhel," the thief replied, almost reflexively.

"Methredhel," Lex repeated, with a quiet, disgusted voice.

He closed his eyes and shook his head with a weary sigh. The eye contact was sundered, and Methredhel felt as though she had just surfaced from being trapped underwater. Lex took several more deep breaths, his hand clenching and loosening, before opening his eyes again and looking back to the thief. His eyes were merciless; Hieronymus no longer, Captain Lex had returned. "How long?" he stated, swiftly and decisively.

"The entire time." There was no more reason to delay anymore.

"So everything was an act?" Lex said, his voice sharp as a knife, "A lie?"

Methredhel didn't reply, and looked at the ground, her face more defiant than ashamed. Lex's face darkened even more. "I trusted you," he said, disgust evident in his voice, "Perhaps more than anyone else. And this is what you have to say for yourself? Nothing?"

Still no response. Lex made a sound resembling a snort, and started off, Sigrdríf at his side, but as he drew away from the cell, he could hear the sound of someone standing quite suddenly. He looked back to see Methredhel scowling at him, gripping the bars so hard that her knuckles grew white. "You'll change, you know," she insisted at him. The words came quickly, as though she had prepared them time and time again in her head, and each one carried an accusatory weight. "You might not believe me, but you'll change. That crown will warp you. It'll take all your ideals and justice and grind them into the dust. Maybe it'll come slowly, as you make little compromises on your beliefs to maintain order. But no matter how it arrives, it _will _come. In a few years, you'll be an angry, cynical shell of a man because you threw everything you held sacred aside because of the necessity of your station. You'll be Emperor Hieronymus, and the Lex I knew will be dead and gone," she concluded, now almost yelling, "This throne won't simply ruin your life, it will exterminate your very identity, Lex!"

A tense moment passed, so delicate that it threatened to explode at the drop of a pin. Lex's face was angrier than she had ever seen it, making her simultaneously vindictively pleased and unfathomably depressed. His glare was also more powerful than she had ever seen before, transcending the rage he would cast on criminals and entering another level entirely: it was so focused, so powerful that she could feel a physical presence pushing against her chest. Perhaps he had truly donned the robe of the Emperor—but she felt that couldn't be the case. He could never make this stare to anyone except for herself. "Is that all?" he repeated, his voice absolute.

Methredhel glared at him in return. Her eyes were also cold, but it was a very different look than Lex's. Her eyes remained an unseperateable mixture of self-assured righteousness, heartbreaking regret, and deep-seated, unshakable pride. She might've been a small elf, dressed in filthy rags and shoved into a bleak cell, but at this moment there was no one in the entire world who was more of a match for the future emperor of Tamriel than this single woman. "Yeah," she replied, "It is."

Their eyes and minds linked for a moment longer, and then Lex had turned, his cape billowing behind him. He moved swiftly down the hall, oblivious to the world around him, his dour face lost in thought. When he reached the exit to the outside, however, he did do one last thing before he left. In midstride as he passed the jailor's table, he reached to his side and took out a small pouch, jingling with coins, then slammed it against the wooden desk without a word as he threw open the door, illuminating the corridor with sunlight.

* * *

The room was, once again, dark. Too deep for the eye to penetrate, the blackness consumed all but the most luminous. Visible on the ground were a large, elaborate series of faintly glowing glyphs, too complicated to discern a use for. They glew with a faint but sharp red light, which lit the only other figure in the room. Erasmus Servius stood to one side of the circles. His arms were crossed, and his eye closed. He seemed somber, but at peace. His slate-gray eye opened, staring off into the darkness. It was time. "Lord Bal," he said in a low, respectful tone, "I have offered you your sacrifice. Come."

At that, a faint hissing sound broke the still. It began slowly as small pinpricks of light, so small that they seemed almost a trick of the eye, blinked into existence. One by one they multiplied, orbiting around some center mass, so dark that is actually resisted the little light they emitted. More and more appeared, coming into the world faster and faster, until soon the room was actually bright with their alien light. Servius' face was as calm as ever as the points came to a stop. There was a sudden, great sound, the cross between parchment shredding and the crack to lightning, and the lights shot off in all directions. In the absolute middle of the glyphs reality shimmered and began to tear as space itself was rend. Servius braced himself to prevent being blown off his feet by a sudden burst of wind, shooting out from the nuclear chaos. The folds of time peeled back to reveal a sight like none other—before Servius' eyes shone Oblivion itself. It was mostly black like the night sky, but of a richer variety of that color; just as a painting seems when compared to an engraving of it. Limitless stars, the worlds of Oblivion, shone in front of Servius: one was very close, looking like a massive moon, a wayward sibling of Masser or Secunda, but on such a cosmic scale that strained Servius' extraordinary mind to view. In front of all of it, though, was the giant, perfect form of a god. From his massive horned green head, resembling a mockery of the Dragon, to the cloven hooves which floated in infinity, it was clear that Lord Molag Bal had filled this pathetic, mortal tent with his supernatural presence. Such a sight would have made most men cry or fall to their knees. Servius stood with his face neutral: a mere man standing before a king of immortals. The lord opened his mouth and began to speak, his superhuman voice resounding across the dimensions. "You have summoned me," he began, looking down on Servius as though he were some disgusting vermin, "For what purpose?"

Servius slowly crossed his arms, looking Molag Bal in the eye. His gaze was confidant and bold, despite the fact he was staring at a creature that existed on a higher plane than he did. "I need a powerful magical item," he began, his voice urgent, but still in control, "Something as powerful as the Mantella was. Furthermore, I need it tonight."

The Prince's visage warped into something that a mortal would dare to call a smile. "You ask for much. For such a prize, you must be willing to perform a great service indeed."

Servius raised an eyebrow. "Service?" he repeated, "Whatever gave you the impression I was going to do you a service? What gave you the impression that this was a request? I am making this as a demand."

The universe stopped in a stunned silence. Molag Bal himself was for a millisecond speechless, completely blindsided by the unfathomable impudence of the insect before him. A moment later, his reptilian face spread into an eager smile. "Because you are so bold," he began, his controlled voice far more terrifying than any roar, "I have decided to allow you to explain your actions before I flay your soul from your body."

"Of course," Servius said, reaching to a small, brown pouch at his waist. He slipped his hand in and drew out the fist-sized, poorly cut gem that had been at his side ever since he left the Black Marsh, months ago. He extended the stone with a powerful, fluid confidence towards Molag Bal. Suddenly, the infinity behind the Prince slammed shut like a book being snapped closed, returning Mundus to its normal state. The Prince, however, did not vanish, and remained in Servius' tent with a look of pure shock on his paralyzed face. Servius looked over his shoulder. "Come," he barked.

Immediately a procession of witches filed in, each taking a position to surround the fallen lord. They begun what seemed to be a standard ritual: one to bind a Daedroth to this plane, but on a scale unheard of. After they begun, Habasi entered as well, her gaze stupefied, her gait hesitant. She stopped at Servius' side. The general had his arm still outstretched and the rock in his hands was giving out a faint glow. His face was as it always was, glazed with a thin, easy self-assurance no matter what the task at hand was. Habasi could hardly believe it. "But how…?"

"The Eye of Argonia," Servius responded, as though he were discussing the weather, "An artifact so powerful that it had only been mentioned in legends. The effect is perhaps less dramatic than one would think: what it does is sever a portal, _any _portal, no matter from where it originated. It's how the Hist were able to grow without any sort of interference from the Daedra or the Divines. Had we found it last year, the Crisis would've been a joke. As I demonstrate here, not even the Prince of Plots is able to break free."

"But how? He is a god…"

"True, but he still must operate under a few basic principles that govern the world. When I summoned him, he opened a small rift from Oblivion to Mundus. He can't actually set foot in our world, what with Martin's sacrifice, so he projected a fragment of his power into this plane. I suppose you could imagine someone putting his finger through a door as comparison. What I did was sever the portal behind him; I slammed the door. Now he is stuck—he cannot move, be it forward, backward, or in retaliation. So long as the Eye is near him, he cannot open a portal. He is absolutely paralyzed."

Habasi shook her head, still not believing her eyes. "Then what are you doing now?"

"What one does to Daedra: bind them. We'll slowly coax out more and more of his essence over the day, and shackle him under my control. To be able to actually command him would take months of ritual, so I'm merely going to put him into a divine coma. Unable to move, unable to act: he'll be twice the Mantella I need to rule this land."

The Khajiit suddenly turned her gaze from the fall of the Prince and looked to Servius. "You're going to use him for _that!? _Impossible! This is entirely against the natural order…!"

"So?" Servius countered, "Such concepts are just another way the universe tries to stifle ambition. This has never been accomplished before not because of taboo, but because no one had my resources, guile, and bravery. The Daedra insist that they are greater than we are, that they are by definition superior creatures. Molag Bal looked down on me, presumed me no threat, and so he is now my _slave_. I told you, Habasi, I set out to make the Daedra fear mortals, and fear they now do. "

"How can you say that!" Habasi shouted, "He cannot remain leashed forever! Do you feel that controlling this god suits you?"

"No," Servius conceded, "The God of Rape is too distasteful to me. I have different plans in mind. I will have my servant, but it shall be the Walking God, not this pathetic creature."

Habasi couldn't think of a response. Servius didn't need one. The two stood alone, silent, with only the sound of the witches' chanting to break the transcendental stillness of the chaining of Molag Bal.

* * *

Remember.

That is what one usually did in a graveyard, after all. The purpose of graves is so that the honored dead may never be forgotten. It is an odd purpose, though, as for someone who cares, it is impossible to forget a death in the first place.

A hand slowly reached out to the small headstone. The words _GIOVANNI CIVELLO _stood out clearly under the cold winter sun. The fingertips lightly touched the words.

"I was supposed to kill you."

Sigrdríf's face was deep in thought. She looked neither joyous nor unhappy, merely contemplative. She moved her fingers across the wording, as though feeling the stone made the man's death more real. A wind blew by, chilling the general. Normally she was fine with the cold, but it bothered her today. It was evocative of a different place and time, so many years ago...

Her father, once so proud, withered like a husk. He had grown mad in those final days. Sigrdríf always assumed that heroes died with dignity. Instead, his mind had left him, causing him to cackle madly often before breaking into tears. It disgusted her. But on that last day, right before he finally died, she saw one last flash of reason in his eyes. He said one, ultimate word.

Remember.

Blood is the purest form of relations. Stronger than companionship, yet more innocent than love. The man who lay dead was the one who had sired her. How could she not remember? How could she forget Giovanni Civello? The man whose actions murdered her father's wife and denied Sigrdríf a mother. That _worm _who wrapped his fat, greasy fingers around people's lives, treating them like pawns in a game, totally blithe regarding any suffering they felt: if she didn't know any better, she would've sworn that he were a Sload.

She tightened her grip. "I was supposed to kill you," she repeated, this time more forcefully.

A noise from behind her. She stood up quickly and turned about to see a very unexpected visitor. Standing across from her was the Redguard who owned the shop that Lex had used to stage his campaign. He looked at Sigrdríf with a raised brow, looking her over once. The general scowled. "Citizen," she said with a curt nod.

Varnado frowned. "Pretty odd words to say at a grave, General."

Sigrdríf groaned and ran a hand through her hair. "What do you need?"

"Nothing," Varnado replied, "I was just passing through."

"I find that hard to believe," she said, placing a hand on her hip, "That you just happened to be wandering through graveyards."

Varnado laughed. "I guess you caught me," he said, walking past her towards the grave, "I had actually meant to talk to you for a little while now, and hadn't had the chance before now. With the Imperator's coronation a mere two weeks away, I figured that this was one of the last times to go about doing it."

He kneeled before the grave and looked it over. Sigrdríf looked at him from over her shoulder. Her eye shone with suspicion as several long seconds passed while Varnado reflected upon the stone. "You hated Civello, didn't you?"

"How would you know?" Sigrdríf replied, her voice a little cold.

"The Lady Flyte told Maro. And Maro, naturally, told me," he said, standing upright, "And your words just now confirmed it."

Sigrdríf turned around fully and looked Varnado in the eye. She was a good head taller than him, and Varnado's keen eye realized that her seemingly feminine build hid a great deal of muscle. Regardless, he wasn't so easily intimidated, even when she began to speak. "Is there a reason you're going over this?" she asked.

"Yes," Varnado conceded with a nod, "There is. I want to know why you backed Lex and not Servius."

She tilted her head slightly. "That's it? I think I made it clear during the course of the recommendations."

"But those were lies," Varnado replied, "I could tell. You definitely chose to support Lex, but I can't fathom for the life of me why. I know that Servius had a more appealing philosophy to you, his rule of the strongest opposed to Lex's rule by duty. Clearly, you can tell that Servius is a man of a new era while Lex is one who will always be stuck in this one. Whether or not Servius' era would've been a good one notwithstanding, a woman as passionate and driven as you would've had to found Servius appealing."

"Maybe I disliked his policies," Sigrdríf replied, trying to shake Varnado off the subject.

"No. You're like me: you couldn't care less about what he claimed he was going to do. We're not political people."

"Fine," Sigrdríf said with a sarcastic sigh, "You caught me. I fell deeply in love with him. I'm leaving now."

"That's not it, either," Varnado cut in, "You're too strong of a woman to have such silly notions."

Sigrdríf rolled her eyes in exasperation. "What is it that you want to hear? What is it?"

"The reason why, but the real one."

She stopped and turned her body around, to look at Varnado with a curious look. "Why do you want to know so badly?"

Varnado give a thoughtful sigh, as though he himself wasn't certain. "Why…? Well, I suppose it's because I really thought you were going to betray Lex up on the podium after Kirania did, and it surprised me that you didn't," Varnado explained in an even voice.

Sigrdríf blinked. "… That's it?"

"I suppose so," Varnado replied with a shrug.

A small smile found its way onto Sigrdríf's face. "Knowing for its own sake, huh? Yeah, I know your type, and let me tell you, you're dead wrong, Redguard. You think that I had some sort of master plan worked out with Servius, that I was weighing my options carefully during the whole ordeal. Let me tell you," she insisted, looking down on him, "I wasn't. People aren't rational. They don't really think critically and plan ahead: that's why we have generals and statesmen to do such work for us. During the entire month, I was just going with my gut--no analysis, no chilly logic. What my heart told me, I did. That's the only way I can live."

She turned around and started to leave. Just before she was gone, though, she stopped. "You're sharp, though. The morning of the event, I was leaning towards betraying Lex, true. But when push came to shove, I didn't feel like it. I did what I felt like, nothing more."

With her piece said, Sigrdríf vanished beyond a hedge without waiting for a response. Varnado thought for a moment, and then smiled in return. He looked up towards the winter sun, coldly burning in the heavens. 'You did what you felt like, huh?' he thought, 'Who would've thought that the Battle-Singer... Maro, I think I understand you a little better every day.'

There was no more time to be wasted, however, and so Varnado left, leaving Civello's grave to sit alone under its tree, now reflecting the daylight off its brilliant alabaster face.

* * *

Armand Christophe opened the door to a rather seedy tavern and looked it over once. His face looked less than ecstatic: it seemed as though this wasn't the first time he had done this today, and most likely wouldn't be his last. This time, though, his eyes caught sight of something, and a curious look found its way onto his face, something in between relief and pity. He walked into the building. The floor here was somehow more soiled than the dirt path outside, and the room stank of cheap liquor, among other, less savory things. He sat down at a stool next to a hunched over elven woman who was staring intently at the counter. The rough looking bartender looked Armand over critically. The doyen looked up and waved his hand. "Get me anything," he said quickly, "A beer."

Christophe glanced to his side. The woman had a hollow, soulless look in her eyes. Surprisingly, the drink she had in front of her was hardly touched, and her gaze had a deep emptiness rare in a drunk. Christophe gave her a sad smile. "You look like hell."

The elf slowly turned her head to look at Christophe. After glancing at him for a moment, she looked back at the counter. "Why're you here?" she asked, in a voice so small it was barely detectable.

"Two reasons, really," Christophe responded, "The first being guild related. I take it you spoke to Carwen?"

The elf didn't respond. Christophe frowned. "If you did, you know that I assigned you to pick out her punishment. Have you determined one?"

"I don't care," she said, still not looking to Christophe.

"You don't care?" the doyen repeated, taken by surprise, "Really?"

"Fine her five drakes," the elf added, her tone unchanging, "Or kick her off duty for a day. I don't care."

Christophe looked at her for a moment before nodding slowly. "You do realize what she attempted to do to your reputation, right?"

"Yeah."

"... Fine. I'll make the punishment light then," Christophe said with an air of finality. The bartender returned and set down a dirty glass in front of Christophe, but he no longer really seemed to care about anything but the elf to his side. "I came for another reason, of course."

The elf didn't reply. The doyen gave her a sad smile. "It hurts, doesn't it? Being the traitor. It's funny, you know, everyone wants to have sympathy for the person at the receiving end, but often it's the traitor himself who feels the deepest pain. The traitor feels unending guilt that the betrayed will never know."

To Chrstophe's surprise, the elf turned her head towards him, her eyes angry. "Is there a reason you're saying this?" she said, her voice aggressive.

The doyen kept the same expression on his face, which was almost nostalgic. "I've been where you are now. To play with someone's trust only to shatter them with a single action... And above all, I know the pain that you're going through, and will go through."

The elf looked away, towards her glass. Her face was still irritated. "What do you know?"

Christophe looked to his glass in turn. "What it feels like to betray someone you love, of course."

The elf looked over to him in shock, but Christophe didn't return a glance. "For me, the pain never really went away, but I learned how to deal with it. I never really loved again. I traded in my ability to have such warm emotions for the doyenship. Maybe it was for the best--when you get to the very top, personal relationships hold you down. I think that the sacrifice that I made by forsaking love allowed me to lead the Guild without any distractions and have one of the greatest tenures in history."

He looked upwards, a yearning smile on his lips. "Or maybe those are the regretful justifications of an old, lonely man. I suppose I'll never know."

The elf opened her mouth, but couldn't immediately respond. "Why are you...?"

"Because you feel the same way. I don't know _how _you loved him, but it was quite obvious that whatever was between you two was more intense than mere friendship or camaraderie. Know this," he said, his voice becoming momentarily serious, "You will never truly be with him again. Don't tie your hopes to dreams as I did; they'll only make your final realization more difficult to bear. It's like entering cold water--just jump in and get it all over with."

The mournful smile reappeared. "Know also that you are now a very different woman than you were yesterday. The pain that you feel is proof of that. It's an emotion so powerful it's nearly sublime. Maybe we should even feel grateful that we're allowed to experience emotions on the scale that normal people never even dream of. Regardless, you know what it means to betray someone. Because of that, you'll never do it again. I know that I'm leaving the Guild in good hands with you."

The elf's eyes widened in shock. "You mean...?"

Christophe nodded. "I do. From this day on, Methredhel, you are the new doyen. Remember this pain, and never subjugate yourself to it again by stabbing the Guild in the back. That is my sole order."

At that, Christophe stood and walked out of the tavern. The elf watched him leave. When he had left sight, she looked back at her drink. Her trembling brown eyes had a look to them that was difficult to determine, both haunted and moved. She cradled her head in her hands and said no more.

* * *

Eight men had gathered in Servius' camp, right near the large tent which dominated the area. They were all clad in Imperial armor, each a battle hardened veteran, casting suspicious glances among themselves. Tensions were high as they waited, all for the one man who had yet to arrive. When they heard his voice, it was unmistakable. "Gentlemen," Servius called out, leaving the colossal tent, "So good of you to come, especially on such short notice."

One of the generals, with a beard so large it resembled a white mane, snorted. "You kept us out here for an hour already! Is this some sort of joke?"

"Not at all," Servius responded casually, "I've just come to make a little business arrangement with you all. I'll cut straight to the point, gentlemen. Civello brought all of us here so that we would self-regulate our ambitions, and keep it from any one legion to be able to seize the throne. I'm sure that you're all very well aware of that. This little policy, however, is flawed. Tamriel needs a strong leader, and I believe that it should be me."

The generals gave Servius skeptical looks. "You?" one said with a laugh.

"Yes, me, and to succeed, your help would indeed be useful. Because you are such influential people, I did not expect to receive this as charity. The way I see it, all of us will benefit from my proposal. You," he said, pointing to the leader at one end of the group, "Shall have Anvil. You," he said, pointing to another, "Kvatch. You, Skingrad. You, Chorrol. You, Bruma. You, Cheydinhal. You, Bravil. And finally you," he concluded, gesturing to the man at the opposite end, "Leyawiin."

"And you?" One of the soldiers, a man with one eye and half a nose, asked.

Servius raised a brow, as though he thought the question's answer to be self-evident. "The Imperial City, naturally."

The eight muttered to themselves quietly, each giving even more suspicious looks Servius' way. He didn't return their looks, maintaining a calm, professional expression at all times. His debonair got to one hotheaded general, who flared his nose at the Man from Argonia. "So tell me, 'great leader', what gives _you_ the right to rule Cyrodiil? Why should we let some filthy lizard lover who went native in the swamps have ultimate rule over the Empire?"

Servius gave the man a pleased smile. "I'm really happy you asked that question," he said amicably. He then lifted his hand into the air and snapped once.

Suddenly, from the tent, there was a massive, groaning noise. It sounded like metal grinding against metal, which produced a moaning sound like none other that had rung over the world. A huge burst of steam shot out from the tent, so powerful that it nearly knocked the soldiers off their feet. Servius turned around to watch this moment he had waited for during all these years. The roof of the tent was torn off as a colossal bronze hand tore through it, reaching towards the sky: the legendary fist easily as large as a house. The generals all took a frightened step back in unison as a second titanic metal arm broke out from the tent, blistering steam pouring out from its joints. Slowly, amid the screeching of bronze, the great construct pushed itself up off the earth. Larger than imagination could create, it was something beyond human: the second Walking God had finally begun to stand. It produced so much steam that even Servius, who was standing a good deal away from it, had begun to sweat. To the accompaniment of the hissing of pipes and the grinding screams of metal, the god stood upright, looking over the land. It was clear that it was still very much damaged, but it was still kept together by some superhuman power: and at that thought the generals realized that floating within the Walking God's exposed ribcage was the defeated, subservient form of Molag Bal himself. The divine construct slowly fell to one knee and extended an open palm towards Servius, who deftly leapt into the god's hand. He looked over the generals with a triumphant, infinitely confidant smile. One of them, the very one who had just insulted him, broke out of his fear and threw a fist into the air. "Long live Erasmus I!" he cheered.

The other generals were roused from their own terror. "Long live Erasmus I!" they called out in response.

"The time is now!" Servius called out as the great Bronze God stood back upright, raising him to the heavens, "It is time to show the Elder Council who _really _controls this land! It is time to give this troubled time the leader it deserves! Rally your men, come to the shore, and meet me there, where destiny is made!" he yelled, drawing his sword and pointing it towards the Imperial City, "For today we siege the Imperial City! This is our hour!"

The generals cheered once more. From his vantage point, Servius could make out his entire legion celebrating as well, calling out his name over and over again, ready to fight and die in his name. In the distance, he could see the spire of the White-Gold Tower, now seeming so vulnerable. From so high up, it no longer seemed like a great obstacle. After so many years, he would finally grasp what was rightfully his. Servius grinned darkly. "This," he said forcefully to himself, "Is _my _hour!"

20thof Evening Star, 3e 434: The Siege of the Imperial City had begun.


	38. The Imperial City Under Siege

Hieronymus Lex lounged on his throne in the White-Gold bored out of his mind, wondering if the Lady Flyte's topics of conversation could possibly become more inane. If Chancellor Ocato, the only other person in the room, felt similarly, he certainly wasn't showing it. The Altmer seemed to be deeply engaged in discussion that seemed to become more and more trivial by the minute. "Clearly, we should send more invitations to the Elswyer delegation," he insisted.

This was clearly unacceptable to Lady Flyte. "No!" she passionately insisted, "I think repairing relations with Sentinel would better suit the Empire's needs."

"Perhaps they would suit Anticlere's," Ocato quipped, "But I see no reason to snub an important and delicate ally so that we might extend a hand to a vanquished enemy."

Lady Flyte shook her head vigorously. "Elswyer _is _chaos, though. They won't become any more organized because they received an invitation to a gala! Lord Hieronymus," she said, turning to Lex, "Please, do you support Ocato or myself in the matter?"

"I agree," Lex said, still staring off into space.

The lady gave him a humorless frown, but before she could comment, a royal guard burst into their chamber with such speed and urgency that Lex himself was startled into paying attention. Ocato gave the man a concerned look. "What's happened?" he demanded.

"Erasmus Servius had turned against us," the guard said quickly, "And he's gathered an army of… My lord, I think you ought to see for yourself."

Lady Flyte turned as white as a sheet. "Servius has gathered an army?! Preposterous!"

Ocato clenched a fist. "I figured as much. Come," he said, gesturing to Lady Flyte and Lex, "Grasp my wrist."

The two complied. A moment later, they heard a spell being cast, and Lex felt as though a hook had been shoved into a his chest and suddenly yanked forward. Colors blended and there was a great whooshing sound. Everything was suddenly very bright, not to mention cold. The trip didn't seem to agree with the lady, who had fallen to one knee. Lex moved to help her to her feet. Rather than being thanked, he could hear her mutter under her breath, "This is below your station."

Glancing around, Lex realized that he was at the pinnacle of the White-Gold tower. Around him the angry wind howled, envious of the structure that pierced the heavens. Ocato was at the far end of tower, looking off into the horizon. Lex walked towards him, still helping Lady Flyte to stay upright. The view was nothing short of majestic: in every direction lay bare the miles of Tamriel that in a few short days he would rule: from the shady glades of the Imperial Reserve to the challenging crags and spires of the Valuses. He stood next to Ocato, who was staring intently out into Lake Rumare. "What do you see?" he asked the Chancellor, trying to make out something in the distance.

Ocato said nothing, but his face revealed that his thoughts were indeed grave. "Servius," he muttered, "You've really outdone yourself this time."

Lady Flyte looked concerned. "What is it? Please tell me!"

"Keep watching," Ocato said, deathly serious, "You'll see soon enough."

Lex saw it first. Rising up from the sea it towered like a bronze mountain, larger than anything he had ever seen before. There it was, the legendary weapon from myth that united the Tamrielic Empire. He heard Lady Flyte suddenly gasp, and grabbed her to keep her upright when her legs gave out under her. "Numidium…" she breathed.

Lex shook his head in disbelief. "It can't be. I thought it was destroyed after the Warp in the West."

"You are correct, Highness," replied Ocato, "What you see before you is not Walk-Brass, but a simulacrum of it: Akulakhan, the ghost of Dagoth Ur."

Lex felt the hair on the back of his neck stand as a shiver passed through his body. Lady Flyte's mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened in horror. Lex looked to Ocato, trying to stay resolved. "Did you know about this?" he asked.

"I knew that Servius wouldn't simply give up when we selected you. That isn't in his nature. Our intelligence coming from his camp was erratic—he was aware that he was being watched—so the most detailed news I received was that he was smuggling Dwemer weaponry into Cyrodiil. I thought it would merely be centurions. I was wrong."

Lex looked back at the towering mechanism. He could see a billowing cloud of steam following it as it walked hip-deep through the lake, making sure to keep one of its herculean palms out of the water. As it walked, Lex noticed something else behind it, exponentially smaller, but in huge numbers. Lady Flyte gasped, connecting the dots before the imperator. "The recreation fleet!"

"That's why he funded such a spectacle! The fleet wasn't to impress the masses, but to ferry… He means to assault the City," Ocato concluded in a sudden realization, "This is not a bluff."

Lady Flyte looked at Ocato disbelievingly. "He can't," she said, more trying to convince herself than anyone else, "We're too well fortified. I mean, no one has ever taken the Imperial City. It's just not possible…"

Ocato scowled and held out his arm again. The two gripped it, and the trio was torn away from the tower's roof to once again jaunt through reality. When Lex's vision, returned, he realized he was back in the Imperial Palace. Ocato was barking orders to a pair of guards. "I want every man who can hold a weapon to do so! Alert the watch and the Mage's Guild, and send word to the battlemages! Every second counts here!"

As the chancellor was doing this, Lex spotted a familiar face coming towards him. General Sigrdríf Battle-Singer stopped near him and looked to Ocato curiously as he finished his orders. "Is there a problem, sir?"

"We're all going to die," Lady Flyte whispered, trembling like a leaf.

Lex frowned. "Servius has tipped his hand. We're all in danger."

"I see…" Sigrdríf mused, apparently not too surprised at this course of events.

Ocato approached the group, looking more harried than ever before. "Now comes the issue of what we do, Your Highness."

"Do you need me to lead the men?" Lex asked, instinctively reaching for where his claymore once rested.

"No," Ocato replied, "I want you to come with me. I believe that General Sigrdríf should accompany us as well."

"What about me!?" Lady Flyte nearly screamed.

Ocato looked her over a moment, hesitant about what to do. Sigrdríf smiled. "I think it might be quicker if she just comes with us."

The chancellor put a hand to his forehead. "But I… Oh, very well. Come, Your Majesty," he said, "We have much to do, and very little time."

"What is our objective?" the Imperial asked, falling in alongside Ocato.

"Servius believes that he knows what defenses we can muster," Ocato explained, "And he is probably right for the most part. But this is an ancient city which hides more secrets than he can imagine. We are going to go to one of them. Deep beneath the Imperial City we have our own weapons to combat Servius. Soon the Man from Argonia will realize just what power the Empire of Tamriel is truly capable of…"

* * *

Maro didn't know exactly how it had happened, but his store had been mobilized for war. No more than one hour ago had the soldiers come, barging in and declaring the property of the store to be confiscated for the purpose of fighting the traitor-general Eramus Servius. Varnado had protested, of course, as this was hardly legal—he bore a swollen purple eye for his efforts and a threat that any more obstructions would lead to much worse than that. The shopkeeps that had consigned themselves to this new fate were frantically trying to pass out whatever armor they still had to the hundreds of conscripts that were filing in. The noise of the shuffling of feet and murmurs of dozens upon dozens of suspicious voices distracted Maro, who was now positive that it would be impossible to outfit this many soldiers. Several would have to defend the city with only the clothes on their backs. Varnado was still trying to keep them in line. "Everyone will get armor," he called out, trying to maintain some semblance of order, "Just keep a calm line to the front."

Maro had no idea how many sets of his armor he had passed out. Gin-Wulm was somewhere in the basement, trying to find something, _anything _that could be remotely passed off as armor. The young Imperial noticed a moment too late that the suit of chainmail he had just given to a frightened looking Breton had two left gauntlets—but a split-second later, a new man had taken his place. There was no time to correct that mistake. Suddenly, the already crowded mass attempted to make room for a figure entering, clad in the regalia of a Knight Bachelor of the Imperial Legion. "Servius is within sight," he hollered into the room, not even bothering to enter in his hurry, "Every able body, get to the walls!"

The horrified crowd trembled in unison, but the grim, impersonal guards began shepherding the men to their fate. The Best Defense had managed to outfit maybe an eighth of them. The vast majority would be totally defenseless: mere distractions to be killed as opposed to the grossly undermanned Imperial Watch. Maro gave a concerned look across the room towards Varnado. He was about to say something before one of the guards grabbed at his wrist. "You, too," the man growled.

Maro tried to resist, "I don't even have my armor—"

"There's no time!" the soldier barked before throwing Maro towards the river of conscripts.

Varnado received similar treatment, able to get off a sole, "Is this how you treat veterans?" before also joining the damned ranks.

The two were forcibly filed outside. The streets were populated only by the citizen-warriors who were being forced towards the walls in a last-ditch attempt to defend the capital of the Empire. Maro tried to keep him mind away from such observations and to remember his training. He still had his swortsword at his side, which was at least one positive point in this worst-case scenario. And, as luck would have it, he was healthy. That was about all that was going well. He tried to think of some of the fights he was in back at Sphinxmoth—none came to mind.

He began ascending the large, stone stairs leading up to the walls. Varnado had worked his way to Maro's side. "Rufus," he whispered, "This is the southwest wall. How do they expect we'll be attacked from there?"

Maro didn't have an answer. They reached the heights of the ramparts, where the salty breeze of the west wind mixed with the sweaty fear of the conscripts. The two took a position where they could overlook the bay. Varnado shook his head, staring out to sea. "If there really is an army out there, it must be invisible, because I…"

He trailed off when he saw it. How couldn't he? The Walking God forded the ocean as a normal man does a stream, leaving a billowing cloud in its wake as though it had just clawed its way from the furnaces that rage beneath the world's surface. Varnado stood trembling, finally succumbing to terror like all the other men around him. Maro furrowed his brow and put a hand to his sword. 'Julia,' he thought immediately. 'Lynette…'

A man to Maro's right took a step back in fear. A firm hand clasped the would-be deserter's shoulder. Maro glanced to see a knight looking down at the man stoically. "Hold the line, son," he said in a firm, yet understanding voice. "Hold the line."

Then, an explosion as Maro saw the pair reduced to ash before his eyes.

* * *

Akulakhan lowered its right arm, a thin billow of black smoke still trailing off from its finger. Servius surveyed the blast from afar. Even from this range, his god could still create an impressive blast. He looked up at his creation approvingly. "Well done."

The general stood in the open left palm of Akulakhan. The unfettered, refreshing wind of the bay blew about him, to the point where he felt as though he were flying. In contrast to his freedom, the scrambling, unorganized 'soldiers' opposing him were breaking apart in panic. The general glanced over his shoulder to the fleet sailing behind him. A small grin nearly emerged upon his face.

But this was no hour for mirth, he reflected. This was war, and one who fails to take war seriously _will _die, that was a lesson he knew all too well. Moreover, this battle was not one that he particularly wanted. Much like the sack of Narsis, he was going to attack this city out of pure neccicity. There was no real reason to revel in that, even if it did mark the fruition of his life's goals.

Steeling his heart and tempering his resolve, he looked back soberly to the Imperial City. Akulakhan shot off another fireball to the ramparts, sending the soldiers flying into the air. They scurried away from the blast site like a throng of ants, fleeing in stupid, communal panic. They would need to be hardened upon his victory. 'Better they learn this lesson from me,' Servius reflected grimly, 'Than from the coming threat'.

Akulakhan pressed on, totally unable to be stopped. 'That,' Servius thought once more, 'Is my duty'.

* * *

Methredhel entered the Arboretum, absolutely shocked at the measures being taken by the Imperial Legion. Throngs of untrained and unarmored men were being led to the walls like lambs to a slaughter, all apparently to rebuff Servius. Never in the City's history had it mobilized like this for a threat—this was history in the making, but an extremely bloody one. Even now, before the fighting had started, an air of terror and despair had settled over the district with dread so condensed that she felt as though she could wipe it off her skin.

Out of the corner of her eye, however, she made out one figure that seemed confident, focused and determined. Turning fully she saw who it was—the Khajiit who Christophe had worked with. Methredhel jogged over to meet the aging woman before she got away. "Hey!" she said, trying to still seem inconspicuous.

The Khajiit turned and looked at Methredhel critically. "This one has no time for you," she said bluntly before trying to move onwards.

"Don't leave!" Methredhel replied, "Please, don't! This is madness! What's going on? You know, don't you?"

Habasi flared a nostril and tried once again to continue. Methredhel gave an exasperated sigh, and then her eyes suddenly flashed with insight. "Hey!" she tried one more time, "I'm a doyen now, you know. So I command you to tell me what's going on!"

The Khajiit stopped and slowly turned her head. Methredhel could make out the woman's profile, which seemed extremely exhausted for the drive she possessed. "Follow," she said simply. With that, she continued to move across the district.

Methredhel frowned but kept of up the pace. Habasi was central to whatever was going on, and with this penetrating fear striking the City, she absolutely had to find out what exactly this was…

* * *

Hieronymus Lex arrived in the Elder Council's meeting chambers, following the agitated Ocato. The Altmer shook his head somberly as he looked about the room. "So it has come to this…" he muttered, gesturing for the remaining guards to leave.

Lady Flyte and General Sigrdríf entered the room in turn. It was a large stone chamber, with its only impressive feature being a colossal table which occupied the center of the room. Lex furrowed his brow. "Why have we stopped?"

Ocato turned around and looked at the Breton and Nord. "You are not to tell anyone," he said in a tone both firm and exhausted, "About what I am about to do. Understood?"

The two nodded, and Ocato turned to the table. He took out his staff and began chanting in a language that Lex wasn't familiar with. Several seconds passed with no result. Lex glanced towards his unlikely companions. Sigrdríf seemed confident, if a little on guard, but Lady Flyte was still trembling like a leaf caught in a breeze. Lex looked to the general. "Are you sure we should—"

Sigrdríf quickly nodded before he could finish his sentence, gesturing silently towards the lady. Apparently, she didn't want the noble to panic. Before Lex could respond, he turned his attention to a loud grinding noise coming from the center of the room. Ocato had stopped chanting, and the fruits of his efforts were coming into view. The large table in the room was starting to slide under the ground in small sections, to the accompaniment of the harsh sound of granite rubbing on granite. Some pieces descended at different rates than others, ultimately creating a long, spiraling staircase where the table once was, leading down into a dank, musty pit. Lex took a step backward in surprise, and even General Sigrdríf looked shocked. As the rocks halted, Ocato looked to Lex. "We move now, Your Highness. We haven't much time."

Lex took a step towards the newly formed pit. "What's down there?" he asked, attempting to make out anything amid the darkness.

"I'll explain on the way," Ocato replied, handing a torch to Sigrdríf, "For now, time is of the essence."

Without delay, Ocato began his descent down the steep, spiraling stairs. Sigrdríf followed him, giving a single, surprisingly serious glance to Lex. Lady Flyte turned and looked to him nervously. "We can't go in there," she whispered harshly, "I've heard terrible stories about the tunnels below the Imperial City—some say that they're haunted, or worse!"

Lex closed his eyes and reflected for a moment. "I understand your reservation," he admitted, "But frankly, if the city is to be attacked, this might actually be the safest place to be now."

With that, Lex walked over and set his foot down on the first step and started the slow, belabored climb down the difficult, perilous stairwell. He could hear Lady Flyte abandon her elegant shoes behind him and start her barefoot journey as well. The group soon vanished out of eyesight, leaving the Council Chambers silent and empty.

Moments later, a black-cloaked figure materialized from the shadows. It slowly walked towards the stairwell and looked down the pit. A moment later, it began gliding down the stairs in pursuit of Hieronymus Lex.


	39. Beneath the Black Cowl

At long last, the spiral staircase leading deep under the Imperial City came to an end. Ocato was already moving to press on through a nearby tunnel, which seemed to be the only way forward at the end of the descent. Lady Flyte tried weakly to protest. "Chancellor," she breathed, "A moment, please. I'm so exhausted…"

Ocato looked over his shoulder to the Breton lady. In the half-light of his torch, his features were especially stark. "There's no time for that," he said quickly, "Now come, down this way."

Lex inspected the surrounding area. It was all of Ayleid construction, like much of the foundations of the city, but there was something different to this architecture. It seemed older somehow, a relic among ruins—perhaps it was because it was in extremely good condition. It was wholly intact despite the centuries of use, as though it had not just been protected from looters, but actively cared for. The Imperial looked towards Ocato. "And what is down that tunnel?"

The Chancellor began to walk, gesturing for his companions to follow him. "Come. I shall explain along the way."

Lady Flyte gave an exasperated sigh, but Lex and Sigrdríf followed closely behind Ocato. The four made their way through the long, twisting corridor. The perfect reliefs along the walls were illuminated by dozens upon dozens of glowing blue crystals placed in small notches. Lex frowned as he glanced about him. Despite all his years in the city, he had never heard of something like this, even in rumor. There were Ayleid ruins below the city, that was common knowledge, but there were never tales of one so well-preserved. Sigrdríf, too, remained silent as they moved, sparing much less attention than Lex to the splendors of the ancient world. Lady Flyte's fatigue was forgotten as she gazed upon the hall. "There are so many Welkynd stones..." she mused, looking about herself, "I've never seen them in such number. I thought they were rare."

"Tell me, Lady Flyte," Ocato replied, his voice still urgent, "What do you know about the history of the Imperial City?"

"Little," Lady Flyte responded, "Besides what is commonly known."

"Then you at least know of this city's origin. The Ayleid Empire made this city their capital and seat of power; it is here where they constructed White-Gold tower and here where they ruled. This is common knowledge known to everyone, but few people question why."

For the first time, Sigrdríf drew her attention towards Ocato. "What do you mean, 'why'?"

"Try to view the land as it existed millennia ago. The swamps in southern Cyrodiil extended far further north than they do now. Lake Rumare, where the city was constructed, was at that point a massive swamp, teeming with disease and boggy earth unsuited for construction. To build the Imperial City, they Ayleids underwent a waterworks project the likes of which was never seen before or after its completion: they drained the swamp to form this island, and dug out a lake to surround it. This operation was conducted on a scale unimaginable to us today, and the extreme resources that went into its undertaking defy the imagination. Why do you think they underwent such trials to build here?"

"It's dominant location over Tamriel?" Lady Flyte ventured.

Sigrdríf smirked. "It's the tower, isn't it?"

Ocato's eyes widened. "You're versed in tower theory?"

"Just a layperson's knowledge," Sigrdríf replied casually.

Lady Flyte scowled. "This is extraordinarily complex information! There is no 'layperson's knowledge'."

Lex looked about the three silently as he continued to walk. He didn't even know what tower theory meant, other than it was probably about how to build towers. That didn't seem like a herculean task to him.

Ocato spoke next. "Regardless, you are indeed correct, General Sigrdríf. The Ayleids had to build here, because of revelations regarding their research into manipulating creatia. In their efforts to contact the divine, they strove to build a tower, the very one above our heads. But obviously one can not simply create a physical structure and call it a tower."

"Because it needs a stone," Sigrdríf cut in.

"Precisely."

Lady Flyte frowned. "But White-Gold's stone is the Amulet of Kings, isn't it?"

Ocato was about to reply, but Sigrdríf beat him to the punch. "That's impossible."

"What do you mean, 'impossible'?" Lady Flyte said in surprise, "White-Gold is connected to Chim-el Adabal. Anyone educated knows that."

"Chim-el Adabal?" Lex repeated dumbly.

He was thoroughly ignored by Sigrdríf, who responded to Lady Flyte. "Think about it. The Amulet of Kings has spent years and years away from White-Gold tower. It's almost an oddity if it actually is here. Furthermore, it doesn't even exist anymore, sacrificed for Martin's gambit. When the Nerevarine destroyed the Heart of Lorkhan, Dagoth Ur ceased to function. White-Gold, on the other hand, is very much active."

Lex hadn't the vaguest idea what any of this meant. He had no idea that the Amulet of Kings was destroyed, or that Dagoth Ur was a tower (he could've sworn that it was a mountain), or that White-Gold was in any way 'active'. Lady Flyte looked confused, but for very different reasons. "But… If the amulet wasn't the stone, what is?"

Ocato kept moving forward as he spoke. "It is not a secret that the Elder Council has allowed to be leaked. Its existence is known only to our most senior members and, occasionally, the emperor."

Sigrdríf nodded. "I assumed as much. But what I want to know is why I've never heard of it."

"Partly because we forced the academic community—even the Psijics—to accept this lie of the Amulet of Kings as truth. It was so commonly believed that to question it would be to question that you breathe air, or that the moons wax and wane. Partly, also, was that we kept its knowledge a close secret, revealing it to no one, and never writing it down. Thus the amount of people who actually knew of its existence are extremely slim."

"Then what is this secret, then?" Lady Flyte asked, "What is the stone?"

"Think," said Ocato, "Cyrodiil possesses few extremely unique items that can't be found in other provinces. However, there is one in particular."

Lady Flyte couldn't think of a response until she looked around herself. They were surrounding her, bathing her in their dim, blue light. The answer struck her like lightning. "Welkynd Stones!"

The chancellor nodded. "Very perceptive."

Sigrdríf looked at Ocato quizzically. "Then we're searching for a Great Welkynd Stone?"

"Not exactly."

Lex audibly sighed, and the unexpected noise garnered the attention of everyone. "Is this conversation really necessary to have right now? I thought we came down here to stop Servius, not have some university lecture."

"You're right, Your Highness," replied Ocato, "But we're almost at our destination. There is the antechamber right in front of us."

He was correct. The tunnel suddenly gave way to a large, impressive room, still of Alyeid make. Its massive size would've normally made lighting it impossible, however, dozens of blue Welkynd Stones lined these walls as well, plunging the room into a faint blue light that made it seem like it was underwater. Save the reliefs and sweeping buttresses, the room was mostly featureless, save two massive stone doors at the other side of the chamber. Ocato kept moving towards them. Lex followed him. He wasn't sure what any of this actually meant, but if it could stop Servius, he would do whatever it took.

* * *

Methredhel climbed to the top of the ladder she had been ascending and entered what seemed to be Habasi's final destination, a small guardhouse above the gateway to the Bastion. The two had skillfully weaved through the masses with great urgency—Methredhel wasn't sure what exactly the Khajiit was aiming at, but whatever it was, she took her task quite seriously. "Where are we?" she asked, looking about herself.

Habasi leaned out a nearby window and looked out over the city. "There is yet time. Good."

The Khajiit reached into a small pouch at her side and drew forth a rough gem that Methredhel had never seen before. It had an odd feeling about it that she couldn't quite place. As soon as she saw it, she felt a little anxious, or maybe apprehensive. "What's that stone?" asked Methredhel, leaning over to get a better look.

Habasi scowled moved away from the window. A few moments later, the sound of an explosion broke out somewhere along the walls. Methredhel turned, now nervous. "What the hell?"

The Bosmer ran towards the wall and tried to find a window that could give her a clear line-of-sight to whatever conflict was breaking out. "Could we actually be under attack…?" she asked aloud before another blast shook the very room she was in, sending her spiraling towards the ground.

Groaning, she looked over to see if Habasi was going to offer her help back onto her feet. Unsurprisingly, her fellow was brooding across the room, not sparing a single thought as to her condition. Methredhel pushed herself onto her feet as the gears in her head began to turn. "You seem awfully calm about this," she said, looking Habasi over warily, "It's because you knew about it, right? It's Servius."

Habasi turned away from her. "Of course it's Servius. Do not be foolish."

"But he's actually attacking the city for real," Methredhel continued, "Does he really intend to assault the Imperial City?"

"Yes. Again, do not ask questions with obvious answers."

Methredhel stared at the Khajiit, totally uncomprehending of what she was saying. "And you're okay with this? But how?"

Habasi still refused to look at the Bosmer. "Lex is a threat to the Guild. It is better for the Guild to have Servius in power."

"You can't be serious," Methredhel pressed, "They'll be fighting in the streets! People are going to die out there. We can't just let this happen."

Habasi turned around and glanced at Methredhel out of the corner of her eye, as though she knew some secret. "And why not?"

Methredhel blinked once in confusion. "Why not? Because innocent people are going to get hurt!"

"The point?" replied Habasi, completely turning around, "If the city is to burn, let it burn."

The Bosmer's eyes widened in shock. "You're crazy."

"No, she is just driven," replied Habasi, "Servius must rule. All other concerns are put aside for this."

Methredhel glanced at the stone that Habasi had set on a nearby counter. Whatever it was, it must've been something important. "What's that rock for?" she asked, her voice harsh.

No reply. Methredhel scowled at the Khajiit. "As doyen, I demand that you tell me what it's for!"

Again, Habasi offered no reply. Methredhel took a step forward towards it, but the Khajiit interposed herself between Methredhel and the stone. The Bosmer looked at Habasi with as much force as she could muster. "Move over."

Habasi said nothing, but let her hand drift towards a knife she wore at her side. Methredhel glanced at the dirk, and then back to the Khajiit. "I don't know why you're doing this, but I'm not going to let it happen. I don't think we'll settle this with words, though."

Her opponent drew her dagger. Methredhel drew her in own response. "Blades it is, then."

She didn't want to fight, but she had to protect the innocents. That is what she told herself, at least. But there was one nagging part in her mind which insisted on a second reason she was going to fight, one that she couldn't dwell on as she was thrust into a life-or-death struggle with Servius' most trusted confidant.

* * *

To Maro's left was a smoldering crater where the now-immolated soldiers once stood. To his right were troops who were shaken at best, and routing at worst. It was hard to make out much more than that. His vision was crippled from the explosion, and his ears were still ringing. He thought back to his training—first he shouldn't panic, which he wasn't. Next step would be to find new orders from his superior officer, but he had been eradicated by the blast. It dawned on him that now, as a bold fomerr trooper of the Imperial Legion, _he _was the man in command.

It couldn't end like this. If these men ran, Julia and Lynette would both be as good as dead in the resulting carnage. As chaos enveloped the walls, Maro climbed up as far as he could on the rim on the battlements. At this point, he himself wasn't sure what he would accomplish by heading upwards, only that something had to be done. From here, he could see everyone, hear their panic, smell the fear—but he could feel the courage that was within all of them; the latent heroism that existed in every heart. Somehow, it needed to be coaxed out. "Hey!" he called out.

It made about as much of an impression as a dove cooing in a hurricane. For a wavering moment Maro thought about stepping down and giving up, but concluded that he couldn't do that: he was a Rufus, and Rufuses have pride. He centered himself, built up some courage, and gave his best shot at imitating his least favorite drill instructor from back at Sphinxmoth. "Listen up, you pathetic worms!"

To Maro's surprise, several of the soldiers actually stopped moving and looked up at him. He wasn't sure how to proceed. "Uh…" he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

The soldiers started to move again, much to Maro's dismay. "No! Stop!' he called out again, getting a little attention back. He took a deep breath in and began to speak. "We can't flee! We can't! We're fighting for a reason, you know. This isn't about politics or values or anything like that. We're fighting to protect the people there," he called out, pointing to the city, "We're up here to protect them! If we run away, we might make it out, but that's the sort of life brigands lead, not us! Everyone is counting on us—your siblings, your children, your spouses—and to run away now would be to abandon them! So take heart! We're all in this together!"

Maro stopped talking at that point and looked over the group. Had he made an impression at all? One man in particular suddenly pointed at him. Maro felt a surge of pride: he had actually gotten through to them. However, upon further reflection, the man's face didn't seem moved. Maro leaned in to hear what he was yelling, and made out a dim, "Behind!"

Turning around, Maro could make out the giant brass machination raising its arm again. He opened his mouth to say something, but it was already too late—there was a flash of fire from the construct's fingertips. What happened next wasn't very clear: there was a roaring bang from somewhere below him, a blinding flash, and then the oddest sensation of being thrown off his feet. It only seemed like a second later, but Maro found himself in the air, high above the ground, looking down onto the Imperial City. It almost looked like a model from this height. For one single second, when he had reached the highest point of his ascent, the world actually seemed peaceful.

Then he felt gravity take its toll and draw him back down towards the ground. He could see the roof of a house below him race towards him, there was a loud crashing noise of shattering timber and bone, and then blackness.

* * *

Deep below the Imperial City Chancellor Ocato was crossing the large antechamber, his footsteps echoing in the vault-like room. "The method to open the door will take a few minutes," he said, stopping in front of the massive doors, "Use this time to rest."

Lady Flyte walked over towards Lex, her mouth half-open in awe. "Isn't it marvelous, Your Majesty?" she whispered, "To see a sight such as this, I almost feel like I'm in a dream."

Sigrdríf snorted. "Keep attentive," she chided, "These ruins are often trapped or haunted."

The lady frowned, but then looked back towards Lex. "Do you think that Servius has damaged the city much?"

"It's too early to say," he responded, "We'll know soon enough, though."

A few moments passed. Time seemed to be pushed along slowly here, perhaps itself lulled by the faint blue glow of the stones around them. The apocalypse could be well underway on the surface, but there would be no way to tell down here in the quiet dim of the ruins below the Imperial City. While lulling at first, it became more unnerving after time. It was far too still, especially given the desperate times they were in. Lex almost felt anxious, not thrilled to be doing nothing while the fate of the continent hanged in the balance. Meanwhile, Lady Flyte had returned to a more ordered state of mind, and was nibbling at her thumbnail nervously. Lex glanced towards Sigrdríf, who had a hand on her axe. He turned towards her. "General Sigrdríf? Is something—"

"Quiet!" Sigrdríf hissed, "There's something here."

Lady Flyte physically paled. "What do you mean?"

"I said quiet!" Sigrdríf snapped.

Ocato turned around from his efforts and looked towards his companions. "What's this about?"

Sigrdríf shook her hair in irritation. "No more talking—" she suddenly cut herself off and glanced back towards the wall. "Lex, look out!"

Lex turned about in surprise. This action saved him: he heard something shoot by his ear through the air, missing his head by mere inches. Something metal clanged on the ground behind him. At this point, his attention was turned fully to the far wall. Grasping the face of the room like a spider was a robed figure, its arm still extended as though it had thrown something. It laughed—it was a feminine voice—and then fell from the wall on to the ground, landing deftly on its feet. "It's the lighting, you see," she began, almost casually, "It's hard to make out distance in it. Still, I can't believe I missed. How unprofessional."

Lex drew his claymore and pointed it at the figure. "Who are you?"

"You think I'd tell you who I am?" she asked incredulously, "Why would I do a thing like that? Honestly, do you think before you open your mouth, or do you simply splurt out any chain of words your brain manages to string together?"

Sigrdríf, too, had her weapon at the ready. "Are you always this chatty before a fight?" she asked, sizing her enemy up.

"Yes, actually," replied the figure, allowing a shuriken to slip into her hand from out of her sleeve, "I like to meet new people. It's hard to build many friendships, true, especially because I'm going to have to kill you all, but that's just how my line of work is, I suppose."

Lady Flyte was trembling and took a step backwards. She glanced over towards Ocato, who was back to focusing at the door. Apparently the hooded figure realized this as well, and changed her focus accordingly. "Oh, Ocato, trying to open the door are you? Stop now, or I'll kill you where you stand."

Ocato did no such thing. Lex saw Sigrdríf grin, and he knew why she was so cocky. The figure couldn't attack from range without leaving herself open for one critical second, where she would be cleaved in two by the general. No one moved, and then the great doors began to open. Ocato slowly turned around as the stone grinded behind him, looking at the figure with tired eyes. "It's been a long time since I heard your accent… A long, long time, indeed."

The figure tilted her head in surprise. "You know?"

"Yes," replied Ocato, his voice betraying his many years, "I accompanied Uriel to Ionith, after all."

"Ionith?" Lady Flyte mouthed, "Do you mean…?"

The figure gave a good natured sigh. "Well, I guess the charade is over. If you know already, I don't need to wear this anymore, do I?" That being said, she grasped her cloak with one hand and tore it off.

Lex couldn't believe his eyes. She was unlike anything he had ever seen. Her skin was a pale blue, almost white, matching her freezing cobalt eyes. Her hair was a similar color, bunched into needle-strands hanging like icicles from her head. It was as though she were sculpted from the face of a glacier by a Nord artisan, perfect to the point of being unsettling, both unnervingly familiar and uncomfortably alien at the same time. She was living winter: the very spirit of the northern lands given form. Clad now only in tight-fitting, jet black battlegear, she drew a wakizashi from her side. "My name is Khon-Ma," she called out, entering a fighter's stance, "Loyal servant to my Lord Tosh Raka and ultimate scion of the Septim dynasty! Steel yourselves, Imperial trash, for the fury of the Kamal will be abided only through your deaths!"


	40. Clash of Frost, Duel of Fire

Like a white blur, Khon-Ma shot forward faster than Lex's eyes could see. A clang resounded throughout the room as Sigrdríf interposed herself between the two, her axe ringing off the steel of the Kamal's blade. Khon-Ma hopped back and slashed again, but was parried once more. Sigrdríf lunged forward, only to have the operative twirl away gracefully back to the center of the room. She laughed mirthfully. "You Tamriel beasts are pretty sharp with a blade!" she said, "Accept my compliments, Battlesinger."

Sigrdríf stretched her neck, causing it to crack. "I'm harder to kill than most people think."

Ocato glared at the Khon-Ma. "I believe it is safe to conclude that you were behind the famine and plague in the countryside?"

She smiled broadly at him. Her teeth were somehow whiter than her porcelain skin. "Very good, Chancellor," she giggled, "You get my complements as well. Spreading that around was the old man's job, but he's dead now, along with our felshine. My handiwork was a bit more subtle—just starting wars. To think about all those poor fools from Sentinel who died in vain, and add to that all the corpses in Wayrest and Daggerfall, even the Summerset Isles. I think there was so much blood poured in the bay that all the flowers will come up red for generations to come—Doesn't that sound so beautiful?"

Lady Flyte gave a small gasp of realization. "And Morrowind's rebellion, too!"

"Right once more!" Khon-Ma applauded, "Complements all around! Although that wasn't my job, it was the man's. We made sure that everyone would fight just how we wanted them to, slowly bleeding out the Empire's combat readiness from all sides. Now, thanks to us, Tamriel is exhausted and at the brink of collapse while our divine emperor has led our people to untold prosperity. Tamriel is at last fragmented and too weak to defend itself. And you did it all yourselves; all you needed was a little push!"

Lex spoke up. "And Civello's assassination."

Khon-Ma's face tilted in confusion. "Civello? Us? No, not at all. No complements for you."

Meanwhile, Ocato's features were grim. "And so Tosh Raka has finally 'eaten' the Tsaesci as well as the Kamal?" he asked, almost rhetorically.

"News travels slowly here, doesn't it?" chided Khon-Ma, "Akavir is one now, united against her common foe."

"Spare me the threats," the Chancellor replied, "I'm more curious about your second claim. You don't look like a Snow Demon, and to claim that the Septim dynasty flows through your veins… Uriel," he finished, regret in his voice, "How I have failed you…"

Lady Flyte turned to Ocato in confusion. "What do you mean by that? This… Creature can't be…?"

Khon-Ma laughed again. Her voice was vicious, like a triumphant jackal. "Oh, learn some history, or at least uncensor what you know. When grandfather Uriel died at Ionith, what do you think happened to his body? That we would just let it rot and go to waste?"

Sigrdríf's face was torn between her disgust at the realization and her eagerness to fight. "Divines have mercy."

"Half-Kamal, Half-Human," Khon-Ma concluded, "Truly neither, but fully Akaviri, but able to pose as either with the benefit of divine blood coursing within me. We were the Pillar of Three, but only I remain. Our divine purpose is simple: to serve as the perfect harbingers for the coming war between us and you."

Ocato looked upon Kham-Ma, fatigued and bitter. "So this is what the once-great Septim line has declined to. It's an abomination."

"Oh, shut up old man," the girl snapped back, "You're just a corpse that doesn't realize it's dead!"

"May I make a comment?" Lex ventured.

Ocato and Khon-Ma both quieted. "Yes?" they responded in unison.

Lex put his hand to the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Miss Khon-Ma… You _do _realize that you revealed your evil plot to us, don't you? Aren't you supposed to keep that hidden?"

A second past before Khon-Ma, once again, burst into laughter. "I _know!" _she enthused, leaning forward and widening my eyes, "What a _rookie _mistake! I was certain that I wouldn't go off and ramble, but you've got to realize that for me, keeping this wonderful secret under wraps for so long—that's hard! I just wanted to yell it out to see the looks on your faces. Ah, my bosses will be angry with me, but it was worth it. It doesn't matter, anyway."

"Why not?" Lady Flyte trembled.

"I just said so. You're all already dead. You have been the moment I laid eyes on you," she said, twirling her wakizashi, "I just need to pick you off, one by one, like bloody little apples from a tree."

Sigrdríf snorted. "Not on my watch. Hieronymus," she said, not taking her eyes off the assassin, "Go down the corridor with Ocato and the girl."

Lex grabbed his claymore. "I know how to fight."

"Stop assuming that you're not expendable!" she responded. "You can't die, and we're here to stop Servius, remember? Now go on and stop him. I'll shatter this little icicle in the meantime."

Khon-Ma raised her brows. "Ooh, big words from the big lady. I wonder if she can back them up?"

The Imperial shot Sigrdríf a concerned glance. "This is very dangerous."

"What a twist," was her strained reply, "Now stop dallying! Every moment we wait is a moment for Servius."

Lex hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Stay safe."

"You know me," Sigrdríf said, finally allowing a little smile to cross her face, "It'll take more than one spoiled self-styled princess to kill the Battlesinger."

With that, Lex turned and moved down the corridor, towards the chamber where White-Gold's stone was kept. Ocato followed him, all but dragging a panicking Lady Flyte behind him. As their footsteps echoed into nothing, those remaining in the room stared each other down. Khon-Ma radiated icy, unstoppable confidence. "Stalling to buy time for your beloved? How romantic."

Sigrdríf shook her head with a smile. "You really don't know anything, do you?"

"Well, I'm better with practical skills," replied the agent, slipping back into her battle stance, "Like gutting filthy Nords."

"Talk is cheap."

Indeed, words were exhausted. A split-second later Khon-Ma was sailing through the air towards General Sigrdríf. Deep within the bowls of the Imperial City, the fated hour had arrived. For one of the two combatants, this would be their final duel.

* * *

Maro first smelled smoke, and lots of it. His eyes opened as he surveyed his dim surroundings before he realized where he was with a jolt. He had crashed into a small storeroom containing all sorts of linens, apparently in the Market District. His back was in more pain than he had felt before, and judging by the large hole in the ceiling, he must've come down rather hard. Luckily, he could still feel his legs, and he hauled himself up from the ground. It was then he realized both the slightly red tinge of the sky through the hole, as well as the implications of the smoke. He rushed to the door and flung it open, leading into a deserted hall. He raced down a nearby stairwell to the main room of the store. The glass windows were all shattered, apparently by looters who had picked the store clean. Maro maneuvered around broken tables and trampled fabrics to make his way outside. It was as he had feared. The Imperial City was burning.

Wagons were overturned in the roads, their bundles alight, shooting ash and soot into the sky. Stores which Maro knew—ones owned by friends—were infernos, flames spewing out from their windows. The heat, even from where Maro was standing, was unbearable. He heard a horrible collapsing noise as the charred husk of a jewelry store imploded onto itself, shooting out new fiery jets as its last gasp, causing other homes to burn. Perhaps the most dangerous of all was the stonework, bereft of its wooden frames, falling at random intervals on to the ground: anyone caught under it would surely die. Maro looked about aghast before it sunk in that he wasn't in a dream.

'Julia'

The realization hit him like an arrow. He immediately broke into a sprint towards The Best Defense. He had left Julia there, he thought she'd be safe! But as he stumbled over what he realized was a corpse of a guardsman, the truth sunk in. The government was gone. The guard was gone. Order was gone. No one could protect what he cared about but him.

'That is, if she's still…'

He brushed such thoughts aside. They _couldn't _be true. It couldn't be. He could hear crying come from some buildings, moaning from another. More corpses were here—mostly soldiers, but several women who had gotten in the way. They were sprawled out on the ground in numbers so great that they almost seemed like they had to be decorations for a theatre. Some were burning away where they had fallen. Fire was everywhere.

He could see his store now. It wasn't on fire yet, although an overturned cart blazed horribly close. There was someone standing in front of it, a traitor legionnaire, apparently looting the rings of a dead woman. As he noticed Maro, he drew his sword. Maro's was already out. "Get out of my way!" Maro hollered.

The man did no such thing. He looked Imperial, or maybe a Breton, with a long salt and pepper beard. Maro charged and struck before his foe could be fully prepared. A single, fluid stroke. Maro felt blood spray from his foe onto his cheek, and the looter was dead. It was so fast, so quick. Another man dead. Maro didn't care. His store was right ahead.

He kicked open the door. He wasn't the first man there. Standing in his store were three guardsmen, men on his own side. There was no more armor in the building, but that didn't stop the three from scavenging. One looked up, recognizing Maro. He was a surprisingly lanky Nord, and looked a little malnourished. He gave a frustrated grunt as he stood upright. "Shit, it's the owner."

Maro looked around frantically. "What are you doing here?" he managed.

The Nord, apparently the leader of the trio, put a hand on his sword. "None of you goddam business. Get the hell out."

Maro stood his ground. A bead of blood dripped off his sword onto the ground, causing the two men behind the Nord to take him a little more seriously. Maro looked the part of a man possessed. "I'm going to my basement," he said firmly, "Get out of my store."

"And I told you to get," the Nord said, spitting nearby, "Run like a rabbit and maybe we won't kill you."

He turned to a looter nearby and gestured towards the door to the basement. Maro took a step forward. "I won't let you do this."

"Oh yeah?" replied the Nord, "Well, there are three of us, and one of you, and enough money to get me through the Empire's collapse when this is all over with. Now run."

Maro pointed his sword at the Nord. "I won't falter."

Maro Rufus had been called many things over the years, usually stupid. But he had pride. He was a Rufus above all other things. And with his sister's life hanging in the balance, he'd fight the odds, no matter what. The three thugs all drew their blades, and Maro knew that this moment would be the tipping point of his life.

* * *

Habasi's shoulder slammed into Methredhel at speeds that the elf didn't think possible from a woman the age she was fighting. The world turned about her as she crashed into the floor. The Bosmer heaved herself up onto her palms only to be kicked viciously in the side, collapsing again into a pile. She could hear her opponent skulking around her, not taking this golden opportunity to strike. Methredhel winced as she got on to her feet. "You could at least pretend to go seriously on me," she muttered through clenched teeth.

There was no reply from Habasi, who continued to size up her prey. She hadn't even started to use her knife, its keen edge gleaming dangerously. Methredhel cursed and lunged forward. She staggered clumsily as she watched Habasi sidestep and slam her paw directly into Methredhel's stomach, causing the elf to, one again, crumple into a ball on the ground. This was a stupid idea. 'I'm so outclassed…' Methredhel reflected as she tried to weigh her tactical options.

Habasi continued to encircle the fallen thief. She made no attempt to attack when Methredhel was down—it was almost as though she were stalling, despite clearly having the upper hand. Her face was far from disinterested, though: Habasi's eyes gleamed with a rare intensity as she watched her foe. As Methredhel brought herself shakily to her feet, the Khajiit spoke. "Why?" she asked, clearly and concisely.

Methredhel brushed some hair out of her eyes. "What?"

"Why?" Habasi repeated, still circling Methredhel. "Why do you fight?"

Methredhel had no idea what provoked this. "What are you talking about?"

Habasi's eyes flared with impatient rage. "Confess!"

"I… I can't let you hurt innocent—"

She couldn't finish her sentence. "_**Liar!**_" Habasi screeched, smashing the Bosmer onto the ground again.

Methredhel felt the back of her head whip onto the cold stone, the electric pain orbiting her head. She couldn't fathom why Habasi wouldn't accept that answer. She had always been for the people. "You're wrong," she wheezed, trying to get some sort of point across.

"Stop lying!" hissed Habasi from above her, "It is sickening! You paint your life with nobility and purpose and cause, but you are not so! You are shallow and selfish! You always have been; it is visible in your eyes! But here you risk life and limb: you know you will die, but you still fight! Why!? Confess!"

Nebulous thoughts drifted in and out of Methredhel's mind. She was badly hurt. Her vision became blurry as a wispy world of shadows and memories overcame the present world, despite the immediate danger that threatened to consume her. She could make out a voice, distant, but familiar. "I'm coming to the city to get rich," it echoed, "I'll find things. I'll take them."

Her own voice. It seemed so harsh, even cruel. 'That was so long ago…' Methredhel thought, 'It couldn't be… I helped people.'

Another voice drifted into her head, almost as a response. "You've _never _cared if you were doing the 'right' thing, Meth. C'mon, don't valorize or over-romanticize yourself."

Carwen. A woman she once thought was her friend, but wound up betraying her. Why do people betray each other? Methredhel didn't know. She also couldn't face the truth in her former friend's words. She really wanted to be a better person, she knew that sincerely. If motives were what mattered in life, she'd be a saint. But who could really do that?

Another voice coming uncalled for slipped into her ears. "We work hard because people count on us. That's the motto of the guard. The cap'n taught me that, and I'm sticking to it!"

Guilliam. She had almost forgotten him, over the course of intrigue and combat… But still, his words were so earnest, so eager—he did what he did because he believed in it. She thought he was a little fool when she first heard those words, but they were truer now than anything else she knew. He worked so hard, but his wages were death. How could someone who did no wrong die so young, with an uncompleted life left so unfulfilled?

One more voice, this one all too familiar. "Do you think I _enjoyed _having my peers laugh at me behind my back, at having the press publicly question my competence, to have strangers who I spent _every single hour _serving _insult _me when they thought I couldn't hear? I couldn't stand it. It nearly drove me mad. I came to this city wanting to do good, and how did it thank me? By hating me. I was very, very unhappy."

Lex. She missed him so much; now that his voice was so close, it hurt so much more, far more than the physical ordeal her body was going through somewhere far away. He did what was right, following his own moral compass to a degree that she found astonishing. He was one of the last good men on this world: someone who did his duty, even if it was wrong for him. The world will never be kind to people like him. To do what is right is to suffer, to do what is wrong is to thrive. The assassins, the thieves… They prospered when they shouldn't have. Now, more than ever, Methredhel understood Lex.

How she wanted to be with him! She didn't even know how she felt anymore? What was this feeling? Was this what it meant to love someone? Or was he something else, something far stronger than a mere friend—a true comrade, who she could fully trust, not just in what she could tell him and ask him to do, but trust him to do what was right and what was good. She could trust him to be _Lex, _and nothing else. To be away from him now made her lonelier than she ever had been before in her life, and knowing how she lied to him made her more ashamed in herself than anything else she had ever done.

Hieronymus. There was nothing else she wanted.

"Lex."

The ghosts of doubt and reflection vanished, leaving Methredhel sprawled on a cold stone floor, still a little dizzy, but more mentally clear than she ever had been before. Habasi was still there, watching her from above like a celestial judge: cold and unmoving. Now, though, Methredhel knew why she was doing what she did. It was the right thing to do. This is what Lex would approve of. How could she do anything otherwise? "Hieronymus," she said again, rising to her feet.

Habasi looked her over critically. "What?"

Methredhel stood. Despite the pain, she had a certainty now that she had never had before. "Lex, of course. I'm doing this for him."

A long second passed. Habasi's face was at first surprised—the sort of look one has when something jarring but ultimately expected happens. A moment later, her face began to sizzle in anger, like it was being fried. Her lips rolled back to reveal her clenched teeth as her body shook in rage. She had all but gone feral. "_Traitor,_" she hissed.

She then lunged, this time with her knife, clearly intending to kill. Methredhel dodged narrowly. Habasi was no longer toying with her: the fight had truly begun. "How _dare _you," Habasi hissed again, "_Traitor!_"

She shot out again, vicious and wild. Methredhel was able to get out of the way. She had obtained a spiritual second wind. She was fighting for something greater for herself—for the first time in her life, she was really fighting for an ideal. This was her true fight. She could not afford to lose. Her dagger clashed against Habasi as the clash between thieves crescendoed among the fighting in the Imperial City.

* * *

Sigrdríf's axe soared over Khon-Ma's head, the assassin having ducked at the last second. She tried to get a stab in at Sigrdríf, but the blade clanged dully off her armor. The pommel of Sigrdríf's axe came down in retaliation, causing Khon-Ma to roll out of the way, a good few paces away from Sigrdríf. Khon-Ma smiled. "You're not bad."

To her disappointment, she received no response. Khon-Ma dashed forward and swiped again, but there was something odd about the strike that didn't sit well for Sigrdríf. It was too short—it couldn't possibly connect.

'Unless…'

Sigrdríf dodged at the last minute as Khon-Ma drew a hidden tanto with her off-hand and stabbed into the air where a moment earlier Sigrdríf's throat had been. Sigrdríf readjusted her guard, watching Khon-Ma warily. "Dual wielding?"

"Impressive, isn't it?" replied Khon-Ma, alternatively twirling her tanto and wakizashi.

Sigrdríf cursed under her breath as Khon-Ma resumed the offensive. She was fast—frighteningly so. Sigrdríf had the advantage in armor, endurance, and strength, but couldn't match the Kamal's speed or agility. She parried one strike only to feel another one hit the armor at her ribcage at the same time: it was impossible to fend off this sort of attack. It warranted an alternate plan. Sigrdríf hopped back a step. Khon-Ma pursued. As soon as her assailant was mid-step, Sigrdríf took in a quick breath and screamed as loud as she could, using the _thu'um _to its fullest. A look of shock crossed Khon-Ma's face as she was carried backwards airborne, collapsing onto the ground, completely open.

Her opponent downed, Sigrdríf took the opportunity. With a hearty battle-cry, Sigrdríf leaped towards the downed Khon-Ma, investing all her strength in a single blow. As she soared toward the Kamal, she could see the fear in her enemy's eyes. It was too late. Her axe sang in the wind as it raced towards its target.

A second later, Sigrdríf heard the sound of it shatter as all her strength caused it to fragment into dozens of metal shards as it hit the cold stone floor.

She couldn't believe her eye.

Looking up, Sigrdríf saw Khon-Ma standing across from her, laughing triumphantly. "What a _clever _trick!" she cackled, "You almost got me there! If I were some nobody, I'd be split in half!"

Sigrdríf took several steps back. She looked at the haft of her axe. The majority of the blade was gone. All that remained was a small, thin line of jagged, sharp metal on one end and a smooth shaft everywhere else. "But how…"

"I'm fast," replied Khon-Ma. Her voice was indulgent in savoring the moment: she clearly believed that she had already won the fight. "I was trained in secret techniques that have been passed down for generations. I can't be beaten by normal means. I'm invincible. Too bad you learned that a moment too late."

Sigrdríf was winded. That use of the Voice took a lot out of her: it was a desperation attack, and one that left her nearly fatigued. She couldn't pull off another use, and could feel her body's response time slow down slightly, but that little difference could mean life or death in such a close fight. She was all but disarmed as well—she cursed herself for not taking a spare weapon with her. Khon-Ma licked her wakizashi, almost sensually. "This is my favorite point, you know?" she began, taking a step forward, "When my enemy knows that they're dead, but can't quite accept it? Your mind is going to make all these impossible plans you know won't work. You curse yourself, knowing that you came _this far, _only to be killed by the better fighter. Ooh, I can feel the chill of death already," she said, complete with a playful shudder, "And I love it."

'This is it,' thought Sigrdríf, 'Everything comes down to this. Everything.'

Khon-Ma took another step forward. "Maybe I'll cut off your face and give it to Lex. Or maybe I'll just hand him your heart—that's more romantic."

Sigrdríf focused herself and braced her body for the coming attack. Every sense she focused on this single, glorious moment. Everything in her entire life had led to this point. Clarity and inner focus were rare in Nord warriors, but Sigrdríf drew from all her reserves to make this work. "Not yet," she hissed, "This isn't over yet."

"Ready or not…" Khon-Ma teased.

Total calm. "Father," Sigrdríf whispered, "Guide my hand."

Khon-Ma's grin spread across her face as she readied her blades. "Here… I… _COME!_"

She once again became a white blur. The attacks were traded so fast that the untrained eye couldn't make them out. Steel clashed on steel. Khon-Ma's wakizashi went flying into the air, spiraling away into the dark. The half of Sigrdríf's axe imbedded itself deep into the side of Khon-Ma's stomach. Her once pristine battlegear was now soaking with blood.

Khon-Ma's tanto had imbedded itself in the middle of Sigrdríf's armor, piercing deep into her flesh, right next to her heart.

The two stood in shock. Both of their faces were contorted in surprise, their breathing irregular and pained. Khon-Ma was the first to react. She screamed in pain and lurched away, grasping at her side. Her body was almost convulsing. Tears ran down her frozen cheeks as she nearly collapsed. Slowly, she limped across the room towards her cloak, picking it up with her shaking hands. She left a trail of blood as she drew herself in long, belabored shuffles towards the exit, no longer following Lex. She vanished around the corridor.

Sigrdríf gasped and looked down. Blood was streaking down her armor. She didn't really feel much pain at this point, but her limbs started to feel very heavy. She wondered how she was ever even able to stand in the first place. Her legs gave way, causing her to fall on her back, looking up towards the ceiling. Her fingers twitched a bit as she felt like grabbing something—anything—only to find that there was nothing there. She moved her lips to say something, but no air came out.

Her body grew heavier still, as though it were pinning her to the floor. She rolled her eye to look at the tanto, and then back up to the ceiling. The calm, blue light was starting to dim. 'This is it? Figures.'

The ceiling grew darker still. Her eye started to lose focus as she felt very tired. 'It was a pretty good way to go, actually…'

Her thoughts became less focused and clear, like paint running off a wet picture, steadily dissolving into streaks of isolated, incomprehensible emotions and feelings. Her eyelid closed halfway, then stopped moving. Her breathing stilled, and Sigrdríf's passionate heart gave its final beat.


	41. Ambition's End

Above the wailing city, Erasmus Servius looked down upon the slaughter from the hand of the Walking God, his face dispassionate and calm. He had come to the conclusion before he attacked that, if Akavir were indeed to invade, this city must be purged. It was built in an antique era, one made for peace and not war. Its people had become soft and fat over the course of decades of prosperity. It took its unassailable position for granted and lacked true fortifications. The black tide from the east would be impossible to resist for such a decadent, untested capital. Akulakhan shot another fireball from its giant fingertip, this time at the Elven Gardens, vaporizing a once splendid manor. The fires spread.

Servius closed his eye and sighed. Killing his countrymen was lamentable, but the city had become a boil on the face of Tamriel. With war perhaps only months away, he couldn't redeem it through peaceful means. No, like the festering imperfection it was, it would need to be popped to reveal all the putridity that it contained before it could naturally heal. Erasmus would not be a loved emperor—No, he knew he would be a detested military dictator. But to save Tamriel, this must be done. He gestured for Akulakhan to destroy another home: this one would have blocked construction of an important barracks that Servius had intended to build. There were probably people inside.

Servius was willing to accept the consequences of his actions.

He looked up, his steel-gray eye resolute, to White-Gold tower. The Elder Council clearly had to die as well. There would be only one ruler in this empire. Servius extended his arm and felt his god redirect his course towards the center of the city. It was time to end this battle. Once Akulakahn secured the tower and killed the councilors, there would be no way for the loyalists to rebuff his attack. If he could take the center of the city, Servius would be the undisputed ruler of this land. The Walking God began its final approach.

Servius closed his eye. He knew this must be done. Only he could defeat the might of Akavir and preserve Tamriel, which he would do no matter the cost. He looked back up. "I have no regrets," he said firmly to himself, traveling swiftly through the heavens towards the final goal.

* * *

Lex moved swiftly down the tunnel, wasting no time in his approach towards the stone's chamber. Despite his resolve, his face was troubled. "I'm worried about Sigrdríf," he announced.

Chancellor Ocato quickened his pace to match Lex's and soon strode at his side. "General Sigrdríf is an extremely capable combatant. I'm sure she's fine."

"She's probably dead," came Lady Flyte's quivering voice from behind them, "She's probably been killed like we'll be…"

Ocato ignored her. There were more pressing tasks at hand than babysitting the Flyte girl. He turned his attention to Lex. "What is important now is understanding what we will do next. Servius has made a critical flaw in his attack, and one we can hopefully destroy him for."

"Go on."

"I believe that he is under the impression that the defenses of the Imperial City are solely the walls and men who defend it. If so, he has made a fundamental error. White-Gold Tower is unlike any other structure in its construction. Not only is there a central tower, but several smaller towers around it—you should know, seeing as you lived in one. This is the "Wheel-within-a- wheel" construction style that makes our capital so unique. The strength of White-Gold Tower is exponentially increased, but only within the wheel. Do you follow?"

"Yes," replied Lex, hoping that this wouldn't go in to metaphysics.

"With this in mind," continued Ocato, "You can realize that the city itself is a form of weapon, with the Tower itself as the triggering mechanism. By using the minor towers to reflect White-Gold, we can create a weapon so powerful that it can overcome nearly any defense. Akulakhan, being but a reflection of Walks-Brass, shouldn't be able to resist such an attack."

Lex gave Ocato a curious look, "If this city is so powerful, then why have these defenses never been used before? I've never even heard of them."

"Mainly because we don't know exactly how they work," Ocato admitted, "They're ancient in design and make. We've been studying it for years, but even after such a labor we only know so much, but that _should _be enough for our task at hand."

Lady Flyte ran up in front of them, her face much less accepting of this plan than Lex's. "So you're telling me we're just going to try some untested superweapon with no idea whether or not it'll work? Are you insane?! We could all blow up!"

Ocato looked down on her critically, "Can you propose an alternative?"

She looked up Ocato desperately, but said nothing. Ocato grimly returned his gaze forward. "Akavir," he muttered, now on a different train of thought, "Our worst fears have come to pass."

Lex glanced to the Chancellor. "Did you foresee this?"

"I expected something," replied Ocato, "Which is why we dispatched the Nerevarine, who is in fact a member of the Blades, to Akavir before the Oblivion Crisis. We naturally sent an order to recall our agent, but received no response. I gave the Champion of Cyrodiil orders to find the Nerevarine soon after, and relay to us just exactly what was happening in the east. There was no response there either, which is why the Champion has been curiously absent during this past year."

"Mysterious Akavir," Lady Flyte whispered, as though remembering an old lesson.

"I find it very hard to believe that Akavir is indeed united," continued Ocato, "Given the age old hatred between the Ka Po' Tun and the Tsaesci. Furthermore, Khon-Ma very well might have been lying to us the entire time, to throw us off our guard: it seems overly credulous to believe a monologue given by a hostile assassin such as herself. But when I remember that Vivec himself gave the order have Morrowind be incorporated in the Empire, I suppose nothing is impossible."

"Do you think they really can invade us?" asked Lady Flyte.

"I don't know," replied Ocato, "I suppose only time will tell."

Lady Flyte grew nervously quiet. Lex pointed ahead. "Another door."

Ocato gave a tired sigh. Lex had noticed that he had been doing so quite often as of late, and wondered how the Chancellor pressed on in such a depressive state. "And so we have arrived."

A large door blocked the trio's path. It was older and heavier than anything they had seen before it: even in this ancient vault, there was something about this door in particular that stood out. It was covered in many carvings and reliefs that had faded over the course of millennia, harkening back to a primordial era no one alive today remembers. Its fine details were lost on Lex, unversed in academic knowledge, but even he, who cared little for art, felt an odd melancholic nostalgia sweep over him for reasons he couldn't fathom. Something about the carvings seemed sublimely sad for reasons he wish he could fully understand—it was as though he could feel the unfulfilled hope of the now dead ancients who fashioned these engravings. Lady Flyte, however, had her reaction tempered by her studies of art history. "These decorations…" she began slowly, "They don't look Ayleid at all."

"You are correct," said Ocato with a deep nod, "This is the oldest portion of the Imperial City as well as the ultimate foundation of White-Gold tower. The style you see here predates the Ayleid Empire—this is Aldmeris, one of the last few remaining specks of the ideal that was Old Ehlnofey. What is contained within this room is the reason that the Ayleids chose Cyrodiil to be their seat of power: and, of course, the only thing that can stop Erasmus Servius' mad desires."

He turned and looked Lady Flyte and, surprisingly, Lex, in the eyes. "What you see in here we are never to speak of again."

Lady Flyte nodded slowly and nervously. Ocato, satisfied, turned around and pressed his palms to the door. The monolithic entrance way slowly opened. None could see what was inside as radiant, endless light poured out into the hallway, washing the images of the three away in a sea of pure brilliance, as touching as creation itself. Lex could see nothing but the limitless light, but could hear Ocato beckoning for him. He set one foot out in front of himself and entered the chamber. His eyes finally adjusted to the absolute brightness, and then at last he could finally see the Heart of Tamriel.

* * *

The three soldier encircled Maro, all with their blades drawn. He looked them about warily—he never had the odds stacked up against his quite like this before, and wasn't too proud to admit that he was scared. Still, this is what he had to do. His family was at stake. Testing the waters, he jabbed at the enemy leader, the lanky Nord. To his dismay, his foe dodged easily: apparently, this enemy was skilled. Maro grunted as he felt himself get his in the side immediately after—his guard at his side was down, naturally. The wound was superficial, but it let Maro realize what sort of situation he was in. 'How did I let myself get surrounded like this!' he thought frantically.

The Nord smiled, revealing a row of orange teeth. "What do you say boys?" he asked, "Do we play with the little piglet, or do we slaughter him right here and now?"

He laughed and lunged in. Maro parried, but as soon as he did felt a stab at his back. This one was light, too: it dawned on him that these men intended to play with him, bleeding him to death, before going to work on his sister. 'What can I do?' he thought as he looked about himself.

The three gave brutish, idiotic laughs. Maro tried to stab again, but his hesitation got the better of him. He stopped in mid-strike to parry off an attack from his side. As he was turning, he was hit again, this time in the wrist. He hissed in pain and brought his hand up near his face. A moment later he heard the clamor of metal as his sword fell to the ground. How could he have dropped it! His mind still racing, he looked back up to the ugly, self-satisfied Nord. "Well, piglet? Any last words?"

Maro gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. A moment later, there was a swinging sound and the horrible squelch of a blade against flesh. He flinched, but then realized that he actually hadn't been hit. Maro opened his eyes and turned around to see one of the three with a blade lodged in his neck, put there by a newcomer who had just barged into the shop. Maro's face brightened. "Varnado!"

Varnado tore the sword out of the man's neck, "I'm here to even the odds, Rufus."

The Nord was furious. "What the hell is this!?"

The remaining henchman stabbed at Maro, who dodged to the ground, grabbing his sword in the process. He nodded to Varnado quickly and they both struck, hitting the man in the gut and shoulder simultaneously. He crumpled down to the ground. Maro took a step backwards to be alongside Varnado and looked down at the Nord, who was backing up in fear. He held up a dirty palm, and his watery eyes shimmered in terror. "M-Mercy…" he stuttered.

Varnado looked over to Maro. "What do you say, Rufus?"

Maro looked over to the wretched man. His face was angry (he had almost been killed, after all), but it only took him a second to decide the man's fate. "Spare him."

Varnado moved his head backwards in surprise. "You serious?"

"Yeah," Maro concluded, "There's no reason to kill him, right?"

"Despite breaking into our store and trying to murder you?"

Maro thought for a second. "… Well, yeah," he conceded, "There is that, but I think we've killed enough for today."

Varnado shrugged and looked over to the defeated combatant. "Well, you heard him. Get out."

The Nord quickly bolted from his side of the room towards the door, leaving without so much of a glance towards his fallen comrades. Varnado frowned. "He isn't really worth letting live," he said, turning to Maro, "But it's your choice. Anyway, I've got to ask you, why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. I woke up over there," he said, pointing out the window.

Varnado raised an eyebrow. "Woke up?"

"It's a long story."

Varnado left it at that. "Anyway," he continued, "I'm here to rescue Julia—"

"Me too!" Maro enthused.

The Redguard was quiet for a moment. "… So, I think we ought to go and rescue her."

Maro nodded and the two swiftly made their way toward the stairwell. Maro flung open the door and looked down. Julia Rufus was indeed there, crouched halfway down the stairs, and tilted her head up when she heard the pair open the door to the basement. She immediately broke away from her position and ran upstairs. Maro opened up his arms to hug her, but to his dismay she ran straight past him and into Varnado's rather surprised embrace. "Varnado!" she cried out, "Oh, I was so scared!"

Maro shot Varnado a shocked look, and received a hopeless tilt of the head in return. He opened his mouth and tried to say something, but only made an exasperated gasp. He held out his arms in confusion and tried to make sense of it all. "Wait, are you two…? When did _this _happen!?"

Julia positioned her head towards Maro. "Brother, don't ruin the moment."

"What moment?" Maro said incomprehensively, "How…? I didn't even know!"

"That's because you never look away from that Flyte woman," replied Julia, "Now shush, this is painfully romantic for me."

Maro's shoulders slumped. "But I just saved your life…"

Julia stepped away from Varnado. "I could hear what was happening out there. By the sound of it, he was rescuing you. Really, Maro," she said with a frown, hands on her hips, "Charging in like that was really stupid of you."

She then leaned forward and gave him a small kiss on the forehead. "But I do appreciate it, brother."

Julia stepped over to Varnado's side, and no one said anything for an awkward moment. Maro was disarmed by this whole affair, not only that somehow his sister had ended up with his best friend, but also that Varnado, who seemed to have some sort of dry witticism for every occasion, had for the first time been thoroughly shut up. The uncomfortable silence might've gone on longer, but a large explosion nearby rocked the three back to their senses. Varnado found his voice again. "We probably should get somewhere safe."

"When you two left I heard that people were meeting near the Imperial Palace," said Julia, "I would've made my way there, but the crowds were so thick…"

"Right!" said Maro, "To the palace it is!"

The three quickly made their way out of The Best Defense. Looking back on it, Maro concluded that his heroics were really pretty sub-par. He nearly got himself killed, failed to save the day, and needed to have his own day saved. However, Julia was still alive, as was Varnado, so everything was a net plus. Ultimately, when his city was burning around him and Servius' dark shadow spread out across the land, little victories like this made life worth living. Maro fully believed that.

* * *

Deep under the Imperial City, Lex's mouth opened in awe. Perhaps there was a room around him: he wasn't paying attention. The only thing he had his eyes on now was what took up the center of the ultimate chamber. Floating gently above the ground, bathing the room in radiance, was a crystal the size of a large carriage, perfectly cut and masterfully envisioned. Lex had seen many things in his time, but there was something about what was in front of him that he couldn't take in: it was a variety of intense blue-white, the color of a sky that seemed more real than reality could ever be. It drew him in with a vision of a world beyond his, one far removed from the mundanity of his earthly existence; he felt as though there was another world locked inside, merely under a thin venire of crystal. His very soul trembled at such a prospect. He felt Ocato's firm hand clasp his shoulder, shaking him from his trance. "Do not look into it directly," the Altmer warned, "It isn't for us."

"What is it?" Lex asked, able to think of nothing else.

Ocato looked near it. His face was regretful and distant, the expression of a man looking back on life, knowing so many things he wished to do and no time left in which to do them. "A fragment of Aetherius, fallen to Mundus. This is the Great Varla Stone, from which all Varla Stones are chipped from. But whereas Varla Stones are parts of the imperfect and flawed outer shell that contain sullied strains of the Immortal Realm, this is a perfect and pure section of Aetherius, giver of all life. The Ayleids drew strength from it, but dared not tap into its true potential."

He turned to Lynette, who like Lex before her was lost in a daze, and shook her out of it. "Come. We haven't much time."

"You're right," murmured Lynette, as though woken from slumber, "Servius…"

"More than just that," replied Ocato, "Through the Heart of Tamriel both creatia and magicka are refocused into the world, directly from Aetherius itself. To remain in this room will have you feel more youthful, healthy, and at peace than you ever have been before, but you will grow addicted to it swiftly. That is just one of the many reasons that this chamber is held off limits to all. Come."

Ocato strode towards the center of the room. Lex attempted to follow, but was difficult. The light was so pure it was almost a physical presence. He felt as though he were trying to walk on the ocean floor, with each step a long and belabored process despite the fact it logically shouldn't be. The floating perfection came ever closer, causing Lex's mind to race faster than it ever had before, and his body to brim with energy. Like trying to explain what it feels like to live to someone who has no body, Lex could never fully communicate how he felt for the rest of his life, even to himself. Ocato had come to a stop in front of the crystal, waiting for the two. "Through this, I am going to refocus a large proportion of creatia onto Akulakhan itself, which should destroy it," he explained, "But if I attempt to manipulate it by myself, I could be killed before I can finish I process. I fear I will need your assistance. Reach forward and touch the Heart at my command. But be warned: those with weak wills can and shall be dissolved into it. You must keep something in mind to keep you anchored to Mundus, something powerful and defining to you, lest you are lost."

Lynette looked up at the crystal admiringly, "But how could something so beautiful—"

A smack disrupted the eternal peace. Ocato was staring down at the girl with an angry gaze, his hand still raised to strike her again if need be. "_Do not look upon it,_" he all but hissed in a fear that seemed to Lex to be impossible to carry in this room, "Your very spirit now wishes to tear itself from your body and leave you a lifeless husk. I am deadly serious: if you do not have something ready in your mind, you will be consumed."

Lynette didn't meet Ocato's gaze. "I'm sorry…"

Lex's legs felt weak and his heart was racing. "But what can I choose?"

Ocato turned to the crystal, his eyes closed. "I cannot answer that for you, Hieronymus. I shall give you a moment, but we can delay no longer."

Lex had no idea what to do. 'What could possibly be greater than heaven?' he asked himself. He looked back frantically on his life, only to find that the glory of the Heart of Tamriel itself clouded his memory, and his recollections were eradicated like the shadows they were by its all-powerful light. Next to him, he could hear Lynette speak up. "I am ready."

"Good," Ocato replied, "The time is now. Reach forth and touch the Heart."

Hesitantly Lex reached out and set his fingers upon the surface. He made contact with the stone, and everything suddenly, radically changed.

He felt as though he were plunged into an ocean of warm water. His already strained eyes were assaulted with another blast of radiance: the light that cleanses. For a moment everything he knew seemed to be being peeled away from him entirely. The entire world, from his memories to his very identity, had been judged by the Heart and found lacking. His senses, too, were unacceptable. His vision was scorched away, his touch numbed and useless. As this process happened, he did hear one thing, seemingly far away, but almost as though it were coming from right in front of him. "Think, my boy!"

Civello. He definitely remembered Civello. But why would he remember Civello? When he thought about it, he really couldn't even picture Civello. His face was gone—only a bizarre caricature of oil and fat appeared as he tried to make it out. Civello's voice was gone—only a few stock phrases still lingered in his mind, but nothing complex or real. Civello had trusted him, though: he was Civello's only friend, and he had nearly forgotten the man. With Civello forgotten, did Civello exist at all anymore? Or had he died a true death, the one he feared so greatly; had Giovanni Civello ceased entirely to exist, consigned to be forgotten and absorbed by time?

Civello had done his duty, though. _Duty. _Lex remembered that word. Regardless of what horrible actions Civello might've committed in the past, when his life neared its end, he did his duty. That is why Lex could never really abandon his memory even if he wanted to. This realization, though, didn't make him feel any more at ease. Civello was miserable. He died miserable. His life was miserable. He did his duty, he did what was right, and he died unhappy regardless. Even if he went to the grave at peace, no one cared. What was the point of leading a worthy life if in death you were to be eradicated regardless? Lex dearly wanted some epiphany: some great moral truth to come out from where it was hiding and reveal itself, justifying his choices. But none came. All that remained was the light of Aetherius.

Around him, Lex could hear a new noise, something hissing, and his senses once again failed him. His consciousness faded away as the light grew more intense still, past the point where it can be made out by mortal minds. Soon after, all was silent.

* * *

Habasi lashed at Methredhel viciously, fully possessed by rage. Her body was burning out whatever internal reserves it had left to fuel her attack: Habasi was fatalistically set on killing Methredhel now, even if it meant destroying her own heart in the process. Methredhel, for her credit, was dodging out of the way and counterattacking with a skill that she never thought she had—if Habasi was driven to kill, Methredhel was grasped with an all consuming urge to live. Habasi's attacks struck like rain. "_Kill you!" _she screeched as she stabbed at Methredhel.

The Bosmer dodged and stabbed at Habasi. "You're a crazy old woman," she said, confidence having fully returned to her voice, "I don't know what I did to—"

Habasi pounced with a howl. Methredhel was pinned to the floor and felt Habasi's dagger graze her shoulder. She flinched, but brought her legs up and kicked Habasi in the stomach and off of her. Methredhel quickly got onto her feet and watched Habasi rise. The Khajiit herself had been stabbed in that attack and was bleeding heavily from her thigh, but it didn't seem to hamper her in the least. She had become an avatar of vengeance, and such physical wounds could do nothing to curtail her lethal desires. "You will die," she breathed.

Methredhel readied her dagger. "You're insane! You think by killing me anything will change? I'm not your enemy!"

"_TRAITOR!" _Habasi screamed before stabbing again, but Methredhel artfully jumped to the side. Habasi stumbled as she nearly tripped onto the floor.

She turned around at breakneck speep. Once more, the Khajiit howled and charged at Methredhel. Her attacks were becoming less and less planned and more savage and feral. Methredhel doubted that Habasi was still in control of herself anymore, and had fully given herself up to the raging, betrayed beast inside her. There was something almost pitiful about it: how far a person could descend when consumed by hate. Habasi still had enough sense to continue to voice her hurt. "Kill!" she hollered, "Traitor! Betrayed me, used me, tossed me aside! You will be destroyed with everything she is!"

Habasi kept attacking, but was striking wildly, sometimes missing Methredhel by broad swipes. Methredhel wondered if her opponent even knew what she was doing anymore: was Habasi trying to attack her, or the very world around her? Regardless, this had gone on for too was time to end this. "Shut up!" Methredhel cried out, "_Shut up! _So you've been hurt in the past! Get over it, live in the present!"

"How could you possibly understand!" Habasi howled back, "You, yourself a traitor!"

"So what!" Methredhel shot back, stepping away from Habasi, "So I betrayed Lex! I know that! But I'm going to work to fix it and earn his trust back! I'm not going to be locked in the past like you are! I want to live!"

The words stunned Habasi, pacifying the inner beast for at least one moment. With her window of opportunity open, Methredhel made her move. She charged in and struck with her dagger. Habasi made no move to counter. The blade hit its mark in the middle of Habasi's body, right below her ribcage. She quivered once, and looked Methredhel in the eyes. They were curious eyes, as though begging to learn the truth, one they sought for a very long time. Methredhel never knew if Habasi found the answer she was looking for.

As Habasi fell backwards, one final thought entered her mind. '_The next generation… What a bold new era it is…'_

Habasi hit the ground with a thud. Methredhel looked over her for a moment, frowning. She had won, and so had her beliefs. But in the end, it should never had have come to this. She remembered once Christophe mentioning how people repeat the same mistakes. She wondered if this really was true, and if she could ever tear herself free from it.

She shook such thoughts aside. Regardless of her doubts, the immediate present still loomed. She quickly made her way across the room to the gem and picked it up. She could still feel an odd power radiating from it, something that made the hair on her arms stand on end and the back of her neck tingle. She quickly slipped it back into its pouch, and the feelings subsided. Whatever it was, it had been taken out of the fight. She looked up towards the ceiling. 'Lex…' she thought, 'Wherever you are… I hope I helped you…'

The moment of reflection over, she went to the ladder and left the room. The empty chamber was silent save from the echoes of distant explosions and combat. However, despite to total lack of noise, it was not fully still. In one corner of the room, seemingly forgotten by all, Habasi's chest was still gently rising and falling with breath.

* * *

Akulakhan's colossal foot came down and smashed into the ground roughly two feet from Civello's grave, crushing a nearby willow as though it were a twig. Far above the ground, Servius looked down upon Green Emperor Way. There was so little resistance left. He had won.

He looked up towards White-Gold Tower. It was only recently he had aims for it, but to actually have it here, right in front of him, was something he didn't have words for. All of his trials, all of his pains and sufferings—his abandonment by his people, his wallowing in the swamp—all made him strong, clever, and brave enough to do this. He was finally worthy. The glory he would grasp here would propel him to his next great task: to save his nation.

"Akulakhan!" he cried out. The construct stopped.

Servius unsheathed his sword and pointed it to the tower. "Now! Grasp my prize!"

Slowly yet surely, Akulakhan's free arm started to reach out towards the tower, ready to grab it as though it were Servius' scepter of office. Halfway there, however, Servius heard a faint ringing in his ear. He frowned in confusion and looked about himself. Pinpricks of light started to shine on Akulakhan, each one tiny but pure, like little stars. Servius narrowed his eye as more and more flicked into existence, each one appearing faster than the last. He glanced at Akulakhan's arm and noticed it was moving slower and slower until it came to a stop mere inches away from the tower. The humming grew louder and more intense, like a tea kettle approaching the boiling point. He turned his attention back towards his god, only to see it covered in light, now even starting to encase Molag Bal's inert form. His eye suddenly widened, but it was far too late. "No!" he cried out, "_**NO!" **_

The humming reaching a fever pitch. Then he heard it: a snapping from Akulakhan. First a pipe, then a plate, then a joint. It shook under the amazing light it had collected, shining like a second sun standing in the middle of Tamriel, until its legs cracked under the pressure. Servius felt his stomach suddenly run up into his chest as the skeletal from of the Walking God collapsed and he began to plummet. He reached out his arm to grab on to something, but it was all in vain. Erasmus Servius fell into the brilliant light as Molag Bal's bindings broke, causing a shockwave to blast over the city as the Daedric Prince was ricocheted back into Oblivion.

The humming stopped, and the light vanished. All that remained of Akulakhan was a rusting metal corpse, a heap of metal spread out over Green Emperor Way. Of that, little could be discerned, but the sole part of it that could still be made out was its arm, even in death reaching out in vain for Servius' ultimate prize.

* * *

"Wake up!"

Lex opened his eyes to see a look of relief course over Ocato's face. "You're alive, thank the gods. I thought we had lost you."

He leaned up off the ground. He was now outside the Heart's chamber with Ocato. Nearby stood Lady Flyte who looked as though she had just been blushing. She smiled when she saw Lex rise. "The imperator is well?"

"Yes," replied Ocato, offering Lex and hand up, "The ritual was a success. Gods willing, when we return to the surface, we'll find that Servius has been defeated."

Lex stood up, but looked unwell. Ocato gave him a concerned look. "Is there something the matter?"

Lex shook his head slowly. "I felt… I felt as though I died."

Ocato gave Lex a shocked and worried look. "What do you mean?"

"When I touched the stone… I didn't have anything to focus on. I could've sworn that it should've killed me."

"You had nothing in your mind at all?" a very surprised Ocato asked.

"Nothing… I thought of duty, but… Lady Flyte, what did you think of?" Lex asked, hoping that her response might shed some light on the ordeal.

Lady Flyte said nothing in response but continued to blush. Ocato sighed. "Some… Person, I believe. She said a name I wasn't familiar with in her trance. Regardless, we can speak of this in more detail later. Are you well enough to walk?"

"Yes," replied Lex, stretching his limbs, "We should hurry."

The three made their way back down the tunnel. Lex was in the lead and moving the fastest. He had slowed down the group with his fainting spell, something he would be embarrassed about if he hadn't remembered it all so clearly. His duty couldn't save him, as he hoped it would. What did that mean? He thought of such issues before he entered the large antechamber. His pace slowed to a halt as he saw an all-too familiar sight sprawled out on the ground. "Sigrdríf…" he whispered.

He broke into a run to her. "Not again," he muttered, "Please, _please, _not again…"

He fell onto his knees in front of her. Her half-open eye was dull, and her body unmoving. An Akaviri blade was still lodged firmly in her chest. Lex reached out slowly, as though he couldn't actually bear to touch Sigrdríf's body. He could hear someone moving about the room, and another person walk up behind him. He grabbed Sigrdríf's hand. What was once so passionately hot was now icy cold. He choked.

"Hieronymus…" said a soft voice behind him.

He turned around to see Lynette, looking down at him. She placed a small hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry… She must've fallen defending you…"

He looked back at Sigrdríf again and shook his head. "How…"

"I don't know," replied Lynette. She bit her lip. "I… I don't want to say this, but we need to keep moving."

Lex shook his head. "I can't leave yet. Not with…"

Lynette wouldn't accept that answer. "Hieronymus, the people on the surface see you as their leader. You need to be strong for them—"

"Damn them!" Lex yelled suddenly. He stood up, staring at Lynette's shocked face. "Damn them all to hell! I don't care about them! I never wanted this! I just wanted to fight crime, and now every person I cared about is gone from me! And for what? Rulership? I spit on the crown!"

Down the room, Ocato had been examining the trail of blood leading outside, but turned his head towards Lex. Lynette, in the meantime, attempted to appeal to reason. "I know you're upset," she said diplomatically, "But this is the most important moment to stay composed."

"I don't care, don't you see!? I don't even know _why _I'm doing this!"

"Because it's your duty," said Ocato, approaching Hieronymus Lex.

"My duty…" Lex all but spat, "Tell that to Guilliam, or Sigrdríf. Tell that to my loneliness. I've followed it blindly, like a dog, and all it's gotten me are ashes."

Lady Flyte stomped her foot behind him. "That's exactly what Servius thought!" she said, all attempts to be gentle gone.

Lex looked towards her. She was angry now, and made no effort to hide it. "Here's a big surprise, Lex: Life isn't enjoyable. It isn't enjoyable for _anyone. _It's like a long rainstorm occasionally intermitten with little bits of sun that go away all too soon. But we live anyway because it's all we can do, and we live according to our principles. Sigrdríf died defending those. If you abandon your duty, what do you have? You have murder, and bloodshed, just like what's happening on the surface. No one likes obligation, but without it we're nothing but animals. Gods above, I never thought _I'd _be the one to have to tell you this!"

The last word echoed in the room. Lex slowly brought his gaze down to Sigrdríf. "I never wanted this…" he repeated, his voice now mournful than defiant.

"I know," said Lady Flyte, her voice now more even, "I didn't want Nanette the way she is, either. But as horrible as my life is, I… I have a friend. Don't you have one, too?"

Lex didn't reply. Ocato coughed soon after. "I hate to break this up, but I have reason to believe that the assassin has survived, despite grave wounds. I'd recommend exercising caution on the way towards the surface. Your Majesty," he said, addressing Lex, "Are you capable of appearing in public?"

Lex rubbed the bridge of his nose. "… Yes."

"Very good. To the surface, then."

Ocato led the way, followed by Lady Flyte. Lex kneeled down beside Sigrdríf and closed her eye before standing back up. He looked at her body for a moment longer before following Ocato back out from the depths of the earth and into the sun.

* * *

The masses had conglomerated before White-Gold Tower, all waiting uneasily for their emperor to appear. Lex stepped outside first, with Lady Flyte at his side. He could hear Ocato behind him being briefed from a royal guard—apparently the College of Battlemages couldn't recall in until quite recently, but whatever had blocked them was now gone. The elite force had broken the resistance down in to pockets and was mopping it up: with Akulakhan destroyed, the morale of the traitor legions died with it. Looking over the crowd, Lex spotted a few familiar faces: the owners of the shop he had used to plan political strategies. Lynette immediately broke off from his side and sprinted towards one of them, the young Imperial man, and leapt into his arms, and act that surprised just about everyone, the young man included. Lex looked around for someone in particular in vain before looking towards the crowd, which had their eyes all focused on him. He wasn't sure what to say. He could see fires in the distance, and the haggard looks on the faces of the populace spoke droves about what must've happened. He had the sudden, unhappy realization that he wasn't alone in his grief today—so many people must've lost those they were close to, all in the name of Servius' desires. For some reason, Lex felt as though he shared the blame. The crowd continued to watch him and he continued to say nothing.

The silence couldn't last. A distraction was soon on it s way.

Lex heard a shifting sound come from the rubble that was Akulakhan. It sounded as though some animal were scavenging inside it, but soon he heard whatever it was come closer and closer to the surface from the pile. A large sheet of metal was thrown off, and from the heap emerged Erasmus Servius. Any other man would have been broken by this point. He was panting heavily and soaked with blood, but his dark ambition had not yet been quenched. He looked at Lex with utter loathing. "You…" he hissed, limping towards Lex, "I will not lose… Not here… Not yet… Draw your sword, Lex. We'll settle this like men."

Lex put a hand to his claymore, but didn't yet draw it. "Are you mad? You're half dead."

The crowds were watching spellbound as the traitor general seemingly returned from the grave to challenge Lex to the final showdown. Servius himself was still moving towards Lex, slowly regaining his energy. "What's the matter?" Servius breathed, "Are you frightened? Even in this state, I'm more than a match for you. Come, we'll finish this how we all knew it was going to end. You versus me. The survivor takes the crown."

His hand slowly grasping his blade, Lex stared at Servius. Would it actually come down to this? Erasmus Servius, the man who killed so many people today, the man who would do anything to further his goals, the man who delighted in the suffering of others: the man Lex was thoroughly opposed to. Lex answered his own question: it _had _to come down to this. Servius had to be defeated once and for all, by Lex's own hand. Only then could Tamriel be safe from his madness. Lex could hear his blade grind as he drew it. Now, destiny would be made.

"You will _not!"_

A burst of electricity shot out from behind Lex, smashing Servius in the stomach and sending him flying off his feet. Lex turned to see Ocato rapidly advancing towards Servius' position. "You will _not!" _he repeated, firing another blast. Servius had crawled into a writhing ball, unable to take the pain. Ocato shot one more bolt into Servius for good measure, and this time he no longer moved. Erasmus Servius was truly dead.

Ocato looked down upon the corpse with disgust before looking towards the crowds. "The combat is over," he called out, "All fighting has finished! Return to your homes immediately; there is nothing left to see!"

The unromantic scene coupled with Ocato's commands sounding on the verge of threats caused most of the people to slowly turn away from the tower and shuffle off. There had been so much violence, it seemed as though the people didn't even have the strength left to protest Ocato's command.

Lex walked over to Ocato, looking down on Servius beaten, cooling corpse. It was all so sudden. He supposed it was over now, but for one reason or another, he felt unfulfilled. "Somehow…" he said, looking upon the dead man, "This isn't how I imagined this all ending…"

Ocato turned away from Servius and walked back towards the Imperial Palace. "It never is, Hieronymus," he said, his voice eternally fatigued, "It never is."


	42. The Imperial Gala

The popping of a champagne bottle's cork sounded out over the laughter and chatter of the nobles, assembled in their most splendid finery inside the Imperial Palace. The wealthy Colovians mingled with other foreign dignitaries—Dunmer and Altmer were noticeably absent—engaging in spirited small talk, flashing their flawless smiles. They were in what seemed to be an elaborate ballroom, with a large flight of stairs sweeping upwards on one end of the room. High Chancellor Ocato descended from above with Hieronymus Lex at his side. Lex was dressed in the full regalia of the emperor of Cyrodiil: he felt, however, that it didn't suit him well. Ocato came to a stop and called out to the crowd, quieting them for his speech. "Welcome," he called out, allowing the din to pass, "Welcome all to the Preinaugural Gala for the founder of our new Lex dynasty, Emperor Hieronymus!"

The nobles clapped and cheered. Lex said nothing and looked away, a fact that Ocato glossed over. "We have had a difficult year, to be sure," the chancellor continued, "The war still rages against the Summerset Isles, and the Imperial City still bears scars from Servius' failed coup. However, I can honestly say that the worst of our difficult days have at long last come to an end. Our armies stand ready to finally reunite the Empire, and the vacant throne finally has a man worthy of it ready to lead Tamriel with a strong hand. Truly, we can be assured that prosperity awaits us in our future! So please, honored guests, enjoy this evening and make sure to give a toast to our new, glorious emperor!"

More cheers. Ocato, his address concluded, continued down the stairs with Lex at his side. The emperor-to-be was not as jovial as the chancellor—his stress had seemed only to have increased since Servius' death, and showed no signs of subsiding. He drew close to Ocato and spoke softly, as to not be overheard by the revelers. "It seems awfully dishonest to promise these people with an idealized future with a catastrophic war on the horizon."

Ocato didn't change his outward appearance of contentedness, but the tone of his response betrayed his inner concern. "What would you have me do, Hieronymus?" he whispered, "Lie to them; tell them we're doomed? These people are great contributors to many sectors of the Empire: it is paramount we maintain their support as well as their wealth if we wish to survive this next crisis."

Lex didn't seem pleased with the answer. "They'll learn sooner or later."

"With an emphasis on the later," replied Ocato swiftly, "We'll speak of this tonight, Hieronymus. In the meantime, do go around and speak to these good people, would you? We must work on your social skills. And gods' sake, put a smile on your face, you look like you've just eaten something foul."

Ocato broke off and eagerly shook the hand of a Breton noblewoman, enthusing about something inane, leaving Lex alone. That wasn't a good thing. First of all, Lex hated parties. Second, he hated hobnobbing with the nobility. Third, this was the way he had to spend his last night of freedom from the heavy weight of the crown. It wasn't exactly what he had in mind. Lex sighed and flagged out a servant carrying a tray arranged with various drinks. He grabbed a glass of brandy and downed it in one gulp: he was going to need it if he had any hope of getting through the evening. As soon as he set it down, he noticed two eager noblemen approaching, ready to speak. For Lex, this evening had to potential to be more difficult than the Battle of Cormaris Lake and the Siege of the Imperial City combined.

* * *

On another end of the room, two people dressed in clothing significantly less expensive than the majority's spoke to themselves. Varnado and Julia Rufus could tell that they weren't exactly wanted by the pinnacle of society that surrounded them, who avoided contact with the common rabble. Varnado didn't care about this either way, and saw the gala solely as an excellent opportunity to sample fine liquor without having to pay for it. Julia, however, was glowering in frustration. "This is embarrassing."

Varnado casually sipped from a really excellent Surilie. "You'd be even more embarrassed if you could see the looks we were getting. Shame, too—this is my best vest."

"You think I care about not fitting it?" Julia said, almost giving a bitter laugh. "Hardly. I hate events like this. They disgust me."

"Funny you should hate it so," Varnado said with a smile, "There are a lot of petty aristocrats who'd give up their firstborns for the chance to attend this. It's the biggest event of the year."

"And the most obnoxious. You get a bunch of insufferable men and women congratulating themselves because they happened to be born with money. They all claim to be happy for Lex, but the truth of the matter is that if Servius won, we'd be doing the exact same thing."

Varnado shrugged. "That's not exactly a surprise. It's just what nobles do."

Julia scowled. "That doesn't make this right. Just wonder at how much this cost: think of all the money that could've gone to rebuilding the city, or at least providing care for the new homeless. Every single drake spent here could've gone to a worthy end—the food that these people turn their noses at and rots could mean the difference between life and death for some starving child who lost his mother to the violence. I can't stand this sort of thing at all."

"You've got pretty strong feelings on this, huh?" Varnado said, finishing off his glass.

"You know who the real winner in all this is?" continued Julia, undeterred, "The Elder Council. Think about it. Lex doesn't know politics, and I don't think he has a spine when it comes to anything that lacks the Gray Fox, so the council can use him as their puppet. Servius was too dangerous, and they managed to kill him and cripple the traitor legions. This all went over so swimmingly for the council, and they must've known that Servius would never have taken the denial of the crown without some sort of retaliation. I wonder if they hadn't planned all this in the start, seeing all the dead citizens as 'acceptable losses'."

"Keep your voice down, dear," said Varnado, "Anyway, didn't you support Servius to begin with?"

"Sure, before he went all homicidally crazy on the City. I thought he was going to do _something_, but not go around killing innocent people."

"Then who do you support now?"

"No one. Why should I support anyone? No one is supporting me."

Varnado leaned back against a nearby table. "You're one of the most opinionated women I've ever met in my life, you know that?"

Julia stepped over next to him. "And all of mine are right, too. Anyway, did you see where Maro ran off to?"

Varnado glanced about himself, a nervous frown finding its way upon his face. "He was right here a moment ago…"

"Must've run off looking for Lady Flyte."

"I hope he's not embarrassing himself," Varnado said, now looking perhaps a little nervous, "You know how he is with such things."

Julia smiled broadly in return. "Maro's a good kid. I'm sure whatever sort of trouble he gets himself in to will be harmless."

"I hope you're right…" muttered Varnado, scanning the room for any sign of his friend…

* * *

"So, there's my problem," Maro continued, sighing unhappily, "I really want to tell her how I feel, but she's a noblewoman and is probably going to go back home and I could ruin everything between us, you know?"

Countess Millona Umbranox clasped her hand together, her eyes shimmering with emotion. "Oh, you poor dear! That's so horrible, a tragic love story like that. Husband, isn't it horrible?"

Standing next to her was Corvus Umbranox, looking so bored that it inspired pity itself. "Horrible," he agreed, staring off into space.

The Countess Umbranox grabbed Maro's hands and gave them an encouraging squeeze. "I think you should tell her how you feel!" she insisted. "My boy, let me tell you that nothing in this world has made me happier than my husband, and if this woman is indeed your true love, you'll never forgive yourself if you let her go! Fight on!"

Maro gave her an uncertain look. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am. Husband," she said turning around, "Tell this young man here—"

Much to the countess' dismay, Count Umbranox was walking across the room towards, apparently not giving much weight to Maro's crisis. He had noticed Lex standing unoccupied, which was an opportunity he was not going to allow to go to waste. "Husband!" Millona repeated, thoroughly vexed, "Come over here!"

The count glanced backwards. "In a moment, Millona," he replied, "I need to take care of something first."

Ignoring his wife's protests, he approached Lex, giving him a stately bow. "Lord Hieronymus."

Upon seeing his former master, Lex stood up straight at attention. "Sir?"

Count Umbranox gave Lex a dry smile. "Enough of that now. No need to be so formal."

"Yes, sir," Lex swiftly replied.

The smile didn't leave the count's face. "Well. Look at you. This is something that not even I could've foreseen. Hieronymus Lex, Emperor of Tamriel. How does it sound?"

Lex frowned. "Honestly…"

Count Umbranox cut him off. "No need. Trust me, I was in the same position as you once, suddenly given great power with a great cost. It's difficult, especially if you value your freedom."

Lex gave the count a curious look. "How did you get through it?"

"Honestly?" replied the count, looking over his shoulder towards his wife, who had returned to consoling Maro, "I had something very important to go back to. Remember this one thing, Lex. Your relationships with people are more important than anything else. If you want to enjoy your new life, don't cast aside those who got you here. Believe me, those who assisted you before you were emperor are truer companions than you'll ever meet again."

The advice didn't seem to cheer Lex up much. The count extended his hand. "Regardless of this, you've done a capital job. I'm proud of you."

Lex gave the count a half-suspicious look: at Anvil, he was never under the impression that he was well liked. Regardless, they shook hands as equals, and for a moment, everything in their pasts was forgotten. Lex had a nagging feeling he couldn't describe as he took the count's hand, but decided that it probably wasn't a major issue. The two stepped away from each other. Count Umbranox gave Lex a polite nod. "Now, to return to my wife before she flays me alive. Good fortunes, Emperor, and guide your nation well."

The count left, and Lex could hear his wife begin to chide him for his rudeness. The count didn't seem to take offence; if anything, he seemed to enjoy the attention his wife was giving him. Lex frowned at the display, once again for reasons he couldn't himself articulate, and turned around, walking towards the stairs. He didn't want anything else to do with this night, and so he retired without any fanfare.

* * *

Lex walked up the stairwell without looking up. His thoughts consumed him in a way they never had before—ever since Servius had been finally killed roughly two weeks ago, his mood had considerably darkened. Part of it was the death of Sigrdríf: she had died at an odd stage in their relationship, where Lex either felt as though he had known her well, or hadn't known her at all. Even if she was unreadable and did things for her own, indiscernible reasons, Lex still found that losing her was very bitter. Often, when his thoughts turned in this direction, he could've sworn that he could hear her teasing laughter in the distance.

Kirania was also on his mind. Or was it Methredhel? Who _was _she? He still couldn't determine if he was still angry at her, or—

His thoughts came to a screeching halt as he collided into someone who also apparently wasn't watching where they were going. He heard a familiar shriek and looked down to see Lady Flyte sprawled on the floor, rubbing her forehead tenderly. Lex offered his hands. "My apologies—"

"It's fine, your majesty," she insisted, stand upright, "It was my fault, really."

She didn't seem steady on her feet, and she had wine on her breath. Lex looked her over, trying to make out if she were fit to go downstairs. "Are you well?"

"Fine, fine," Lady Flyte replied, waving her hand, "I don't drink much, normally… I guess I can't hold my liquor…"

She stumbled, and Lex moved forward to stabilize her. He looked downstairs, where the party was still in full swing. She'd make a fool of herself if she went back down. "Why don't we go upstairs?" Lex offered.

He took her by the hand and began leading her up the steps. "But I was just talking to Ocato," she said, following Lex without reservation, "I really ought to go down…"

They walked through the quiet halls above the reception. It was far more peaceful up here, a fact that Lex greatly appreciated. He sat down on a bench and Lady Flyte sat next to him in turn. She was flushed with wine, but he could tell something was on her mind. He wouldn't need to pry. "I have a question for you, Hieronymus," she said, her tone of voice far more natural than he had ever heard before.

"Go on," said Lex, uncertain of what she wanted.

Lady Flyte leaned back on the bench. "Servius killed hundreds of innocent people when he burned Narsis and besieged the City. Thousands, maybe. But the thing is, the only reason he did those things was because my father all but banished him for purely political reasons. Had my father never had done that, he might've even lived a productive life rather than a destructive one. Without my father, none of this would've ever happened. So I can't help but wonder… Is my father to blame for all this death?"

Lex shook his head. "I don't think so."

Lady Flyte smiled at him. "Oh, don't lie to me Lex. I came to the opposite conclusion myself. I'm a grown woman; I can handle it." With that she sighed and sunk into her seat even more. "I really don't want to go home. I really don't. All that waits for me there is frustration trying to bring Nanette back to sanity, having to mediate between my parents' idiotic political feud, and dealing with stupid artificial people like myself. I don't think I ever realized how much I hated it before I came here. But now the thought of going home makes me sick."

"Then don't leave," Lex replied, "Your life is what you make it. We control our own fates."

"You don't," Lady Flyte pointed out, perhaps more harshly than she anticipated. She continued to talk regardless. "Besides, it's all I can do. I'm really the only heir to the Flyte line. I was born to play this role, and trained every day to act in accordance with it. I can't just burst out like some renegade princess in a fairy tale. No matter what I do, I'll always be Lynette Flyte the dutiful daughter… What a wretched life."

Lex looked forward for a moment. His brow furrowed in thought: deeper thought than he assumed he'd go into during this conversation. "… You could always try to use your powers for good."

Lady Flyte looked at him as though he were a naïve child. "For good?"

"Yes," said Lex, "When your parents pass on, you'll be the ruler of Anticlere, won't you? You could use such power to create meaning in your life. Perhaps the specifics of your life have been chosen ahead of time, but the character of it has not been."

She weighed his words for a moment, thinking carefully. A second later, she burst into laughter. "Hieronymus Lex, how could a man like you have become emperor! Power isn't about helping the common person, or charity, or doing good! It's a game! It's a big game we play with people as the pieces, and winning and losing requires the spilling of blood. Even if I go around 'helping people' with one hand, I'll be killing people with the other, as is necessary of a ruler! I can't be a good person—even if I tried, it'd just be going through the motions, and that would be contrasted to the evils I'd be forced to do! And you know what? I don't think I even want to do good in the first place."

Lex was taken aback. "What?"

"I don't want to do good. I'll be honest with myself. The only time I've felt happy was when I was here, and I wasn't 'doing good'. I was acting selfishly, and in retrospect rather cruelly. You know, I always wondered how we nobles can view politics like a game and actually trick ourselves into not caring about playing with people's lives. Maybe it's the other way around. Maybe we all just convince ourselves that we're really good people when none of us are. Because we really consider going out and doing good, we don't feel so bad when we don't. I think there's something rotten in people."

"I think you've come to some very misguided conclusions," Lex said slowly, uncertain on what exactly he should think about all this.

"Probably," said Lady Flyte, standing up, "That's what I get for having so little guidance growing up—I turned into a scoundrel." Lex couldn't tell whether or not she was being sarcastic.

Lady Flyte gave a sloppy curtsy. "Well, I'm drunk and I've probably embarrassed myself so much that I'll catch the death of me tomorrow. I think this is the last time we'll speak. Goodbye, Hieronymus, and good luck ruling. Don't listen to Ocato—he just wants to use you."

"Do you need an escort?" Lex asked, looking the inebriated lady up and down.

"No, no," Lady Flyte said, walking away, "I can find it all on my own. Goodbye, Hieronymus! Do good!"

Lady Flyte shuffled away. Lex watched her with an odd curiosity. 'I think that she might actually be less happy than I am,' he thought, 'What a poor girl.'

He turned and walked the other way. He couldn't recall what he was thinking about before he ran into Lady Flyte, but he had enough on him mind now to keep him occupied for quite some time. His room was not far away now. He wandered through the halls, surrounded by relics of the ancient rulers who had come before him. None of this still seemed to fit him. He wondered again if he really was the right person for this job, which seemed to be more daunting every day. Lex rounded the corner that led to his royal chamber only to find Ocato waiting for him, none too amused. 'Blast,' he thought as Ocato approached, 'I was so close, too.'

Ocato looked him over, a frustrated look plastered on his face. "There you are. When you vanished downstairs, we had feared the worst. It is extremely unwise of you not to have a complement of guards with you at all times."

"I'm not emperor yet," replied Lex.

"You might as well be. I wish you'd return to your gala. This is in celebration of your achievements, you know."

Lex didn't respond. He did have a sudden flash of realization as he remembered something he wanted to ask. "Chancellor, have you given any thought as to my experiences with the Heart of Tamriel? How I thought that I died?"

Ocato's face showed that he didn't really want to talk about this at the moment, but he nodded all the same. "I have. Clearly, you did not die. There is no way to cheat death. However… Hieronymus, do you know what happens upon death?"

"No."

"When we die, our souls are recycled into something called the Dreamsleeve, a realm where they are wiped clean of our previous identities and reintegrated into the world. However, some spirits do not do this. Occasionally, when someone has a pressing issue, or unfinished business, the soul refuses to leave this plane and lingers as a ghost, anchored to its spot. That is, I feel, the only explanation as to how you survived."

Lex raised a brow. "I'm a ghost?"

"Hardly. The Heart of Tamriel attempted to rip out your soul out of your body, or more accurately your soul wished to leave you and return to Aetherius, but regardless, the experience didn't harm your body in any way. You should have had your spirit torn from you, which would have left your body in a comatose state. This, obviously, did not happen. I hypothesize that there was enough unfinished business left on Tamriel that the soul refused to depart this plane, and luckily your body was intact enough to receive it. You should thank Servius, I suppose, in a way, fear of his pressing invasion is what kept you alive."

That wasn't it. Lex was sure that wasn't the "unfinished business" he had left. He accepted the response, though. "Should there be any negative effects on my health?"

"I don't believe so," replied Ocato, "You seemed fine to our most skilled healers, at any rate."

Lex nodded and began towards his room. Ocato turned to him before he could arrive. "Did you look at the women?" he asked.

The emperor-to-be stopped. _That. _It had slipped his mind. "Not especially," he replied.

Ocato frowned. "Well start doing so. The Septim Dynasty failed because it ran out of heirs. It is a matter of national interest that you produce enough to appease the public—the absolute last thing they want is another candidacy. Whatever mistresses you wish, you can have."

Lex entered his room. He didn't have time for what Ocato what talking about. It was distasteful, unappealing, and improper.

'Just like me becoming emperor'

He gave a bitter smile as he surveyed his room, at last having found solitude.

* * *

The gala had begun to wind down. Most of the attendants had left, leaving the ballroom seem wide open and a little lonely. Away from even these minor festivities, off down an obscure small side corridor, Maro Rufus stood on a balcony overlooking the Imperial City. Even after Servius' madness, the City was still intact. Like a formerly polished boot rubbed against rough granite, it had lost much of its pristine beauty, but it was still the largest and most important city in Tamriel. He had been standing here for some time now. He had traced the courses of the ancient constellations of yore as they made their eternal voyage across the night sky, and witnessed Masser and Secunda in their own heavenly race, charming the seas and the beasts below them. None of this really made much of an impact on him tonight, though. He sighed, and wished he had something to distract himself with.

"There you are."

Maro turned around to see none other than Lynette standing behind him. Her dress was slightly crumpled, and she had a tired and somewhat sad expression on her face. She seemed more pleased once she saw him, however. It was hard for Maro to tell in the poor light. "I've been looking all over for you," she said, walking over towards him, "For a moment, I thought you had left."

"No, I've been around." He could smell the alcohol on her, "Are you drunk?"

"I'm a little jinxed," she admitted, sitting down on the floor and against the wall, "But not as much as I was earlier. It's been a long night, and for the oddest reason I don't feel like celebrating much."

Maro sat down next to her. "You don't look very happy," he noted.

Lynette looked off over the city. "I'm not really. Maro," she said in her same, tired tone, "Do you think I'm a good person?"

A surprised look crossed over the young man's face. "Well, sure. Why wouldn't you be?"

Lynette's face didn't brighten. It was creased with worry and the weight of the world. "I don't think I'm a good person," she confessed, "Not in the least."

"I think you're overly critical about yourself," replied Maro, "What brought this up, anyway?"

"You," she said, looking to Maro. "You're a good person. How come you and I are so different? How can you be so good?"

Maro shrugged. "I don't think about that sort of stuff. I just do what I should. No use worrying over it right?"

She looked at him incomprehensively. "Everything is so simple with you. Don't you ever feel burdened by it all?"

"Sometimes, sure," he said, "But there are a lot of things that I can't change. I just accept those and try to work with what I can. Life's to be enjoyed, not worried over, you know?"

"It's not that easy, Maro…" Lynette murmured, slumping her shoulders.

"It's not easy," agreed Maro, "But I feel as though I'd rather work hard at being happy and enjoying life than being moody and brooding all the time. Where's the joy in that? If we only live once, we shouldn't get sad about it."

Lynette thought for a moment, sitting silently. She looked out over the city, towards the west. Towards home. Tomorrow would be it for her. She thought better of this course of action. Perhaps Maro was right—there was no purpose in worrying about the future if she still had the present. She sighed and rested her head on Maro's chest. "I'm really glad that I met you…" she said softly.

Maro didn't respond. Maybe he should have, because about a minute later, Lynette's breathing settled as she fell asleep. Maro closed his eyes. This wasn't quite how he envisioned this last evening, but all things considered, it wasn't that bad. If this was the ending, he at least was happy with it.

* * *

Lex stood, standing on his own balcony, totally unable to sleep. Looking out over the land did little to settle his mind. His view of the Imperial City had been flawed—right outside his window was sprawled the remains of Akulakhan, its hand still reaching towards the tower, eternally out of its divine grasp. The hand was only about a foot away: a testament to how close Servius had gotten towards fulfilling his ambition. Lex silently looked over the city. 'Tomorrow…'

What was left unsaid about? Everything he could've possibly thought about this coming day, he had. There was nothing left to do, nothing left to worry about. He felt himself smile despite himself. He was thinking as though he were headed off to his execution. It was immature. He refocused his thoughts, trying to find something productive. Try as he might, though, his mind kept slipping away. Never before had he such difficulties concentrating. Honestly, it was infuriating.

Suddenly, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Faintly illuminated under the moonlight was a small figure climbing Akulakhan, deftly hopping over the sharp, blade-like metal projections and wide, harrowing gaps of its rusting corpse. As the person, drew closer, Lex could make out more. It was most likely a wo,am, and definitely not a human. Lex's muscles tightened. Could Khon-Ma have returned to finish her task? If so, he stood little chance against her himself. He took a step backwards, but didn't go farther than that.

The woman was closer now, and her identity hit Lex. Of course. He relaxed as she crossed the arm of the figure and hopped from Akulakhan's hand to Lex's balcony. She stood there for a moment, apparently unsure of what to say. She looked different, now clad in leather armor and her hair pulled back into a practical ponytail. She looked at the ground at a loss for words. "… Hey," she managed, her voice soft and hesitant, almost nervous.

Two competing of emotions flashed in Lex simultaneously: one of relief, and one of anger. Relief won. His face broke out into a warm smile. "Methredhel, wasn't it?"

A surge of relief coursed through Methredhel as well. She gave him a large smile, almost melancholic in its hidden regret. "Yeah. I've never like the name, though."

Lex took a step forward and looked her up and down. Somehow, she seemed more natural dressed this way. "You look… Different," he commented. "Not in a bad way."

"Thanks. No offence to the Guard, but your uniforms were always too stuffy for my tastes…" she looked Lex over in turn, noting his imperial regalia. "… You look different, too."

Lex didn't respond immediately. The two said nothing for a moment. Nostalgic was about the only way it could be described. What words could be exchanged between these two? Their bond made such verbal expressions obsolete—the two weeks they hadn't seen each other might as well have been two years. Neither of them could understand the paradox: they had never been closer, but in a way, they had never been farther apart. Methredhel spoke first. "I heard about General Sigrdríf. I'm sorry."

"You never liked her."

"I know. But… Well, at this point, I just wish people would stop dying regardless," she admitted, frowning uncomfortably. "If this were some book, I would've put it down a long time ago."

Lex gave her an understanding smile. "Time waits for no one."

Methredhel gave him a half-smile in return. Lex walked over to the edge of the balcony and leaned on the railing, overlooking the city. Methredhel did likewise. "I quit the guild," she announced.

"Why," Lex asked, looking over towards her.

She continued to look out over the city. "It's not what I want. Not anymore. Going back to it just didn't click for me, so I left without looking back. I think I expanded my horizons too much."

Lex gave a small laugh. "What will you do now?"

"I'm going to talk to a man named Jim Stacey. He runs a group called the Bal Molagmer, a faction of thieves who rob from the rich and give to the poor. It sounds stupidly romantic, and the pay is a lot worse than the Guild, but… It seems like I'll be doing good for once, as opposed to just stealing to fatten up my wallet."

There was no response from Lex. Kirania looked towards him, frowning. "Do you not approve?"

Lex ran a hand through his hair. "… You should do what you feel is right," he said after a moment's thought, "And what you think is just. Perhaps last year I would've been angry at you returning to a thief's life, but now… Not anymore. Perhaps I broadened my horizons too much as well."

Methredhel giggled. "You sound old."

"I feel it."

Methredhel's smile wavered. "… You're still planning on going through with it all?"

Lex's eyes narrowed "I…" he said, thinking carefully, "I believe so…"

That was all that needed to be said. This fact enraged Methredhel, but she knew that it was the final line. It wasn't going to change. "Do things at least seem to be clearing up in Summerset?"

"No," replied Lex, "The isles still resist us, and the Empire will be incomplete until we can reclaim them. But they are a minor concern. Dark clouds are on the horizon. Akavir stirs."

Methredhel leaned forward, her face concerned. "Akavir?"

"Yes," replied Lex, "I wonder if I have the ability to lead the Empire in such times. The future is going to be grim. Very grim."

This time Methredhel had no response, and the two looked back over the city, ironically to the east. Somewhere past that horizon lay the true threat to Tamriel, having lain dormant for so many years. "Well," Methredhel said, "We'll just have to be extra optimistic then, won't we?"

Lex looked to her. "That's rather hopeful of you."

"Well, we can't lose hope, now can we?" Methredhel said with a knowing smile.

"I suppose not," conceded Lex.

They looked at each other for a moment more, not saying anything. This very well might be their last moment together. Lex considered this fact, and tried to tie more emotion to this very second than he ever had done before, but found that he couldn't. For better or for worse, he felt at ease with Methredhel, and even what promised to be their final moment left him feeling more calm and natural as he had for the past year. Methredhel spun a strand of hair with her finger. "Well… " she said slowly, "I think this is it. If I stay here too long I'll probably catch every guard in the palace, won't I?"

Lex gave a reluctant nod. "I suppose so."

Methredhel opened her mouth to say something but couldn't manage it and broke off with a laugh. She looked up to Lex, her brown eyes more honest than they ever had been before. "I'm really going to miss you."

Lex gave a single, deep nod. "And I you."

They maintained eye contact for one more second. Nothing else needed to be said. There was no more remorse, no more regrets: only two fast companions who had finally reached their ultimate crossroads. Methredhel broke the contact with a reluctant smile and climbed up on onto the railing. She hopped off the balcony and back onto Akulakhan. Without looking back, she descended towards the ground. Soon, Lex could no longer see her.

Lex returned his gaze back over the city. Finally, his mind was at rest. He stood, thinking of nothing in particular, and staring out at that far-off horizon. In the distance, the first ray of sunlight found its way out into the sky. The dawn was breaking, and it was a brand new day. He knew the date. Today was the thirtieth of Evening Star. This was the last day of the Third Era.


	43. 434: The Last Year of the Third Era

Lex stood behind the veil. His coronation was less than an hour away. Past the large curtain in front of him was assembled one of the largest crowds in modern history to witness this event. Ocato was nearby, flinging out orders at a breakneck speed to keep everything on track. For the high chancellor, things would have to go perfectly today: this was his only real chance to convince the people of the Imperial City that their future would be safe and secure. With a long rebellion not yet finished, food shortages still common, and the Imperial City itself actually sacked, people were desperate for any promise of relief and security for the future. Ocato looked over to Lex, concerned. "Are you fully prepared? I am about to begin the ceremony."

"Go ahead," replied Lex without much emotion.

"Very well. Come out upon the signal. And gods' sake," he added, "_Don't look morose._ The people are expecting a savior, and that is something you will deliver!"

The chancellor looked himself over in a nearby mirror and stepped forth from the bare scaffolding around him to place himself before the crowd. Lex could hear them howling in anticipation. For a brief second the curtain was open and he caught a glance at their faces. He couldn't pick out a single one; it was like a massive colorful ocean, each aspect of it united only in anxiety.

He could hear Ocato begin to speak. The end wasn't far now. 'Can I really go through with this?' he thought.

Infuriating. He had to. There was no other option. This was his place, and this was his duty.

'Do I want this?'

Irrelevant. He had to. The nation was counting on him, and the needs of the multitudes outweighed his own petty desires.

'I don't want this.'

There were no words. He couldn't keep thinking about this. He looked to the barrier curtain separating the people from himself and began to wait. There was less than an hour to go. Soon, it would all be over.

* * *

"You're _leaving?" _Maro cried out plaintively, his face distraught.

Lady Flyte gave him a sad smile. "I'm afraid so, Maro. I've stayed here for too long. My presence is required back in Anticlere."

The two stood in The Best Defense, Maro behind his counter and Lady Flyte in the middle of the room. Varnado stood at the other side of the store at his own counter, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Lady Flyte had changed into her traveling outfit, and seemed as though she were just about to leave. Maro racked his mind for any sort of excuse. "Well, don't you want to see the coronation?"

"Not especially," replied Lady Flyte, "If I were to do that, I'd probably get tied into post-inaugural festivities. I've delayed my return for too long—I really should've left as soon as Servius was killed."

Maro frowned, his face more unhappy than she had ever seen it before. "You're sure? There's nothing…?"

"No," she said apologetically, "I'm afraid not."

Maro slumped his shoulders, unwilling to accept defeat, but not exactly sure how he could prevent it. Lady Flyte did her best to keep on a brave, if not especially happy face. She hesitated for a moment, and then Lynette took a step towards the counter. She leaned over and kissed Maro once on the cheek before returning away. She looked at him, her eyes starting to water. "Goodbye, Maro."

She quickly turned around and, without another word, left the shop, running her eye over with her thumb on the way out. The door to the store closed, leaving Maro standing alone, not sure what to think or what to say. Varnado looked over at him cautiously. "Hey Maro," he said slowly, not wanting to disturb him, "If you want to take the day off or something, I can watch the store for you."

Maro didn't immediately reply. He slowly turned around and took out his ledger, opening it up. "No," he replied, taking out his quill, "Thanks for the offer, but… I can do this."

He began working, filling out the unfinished tables and charts. Varnado smiled slightly, then returned to his own work. Finally, The Best Defense had returned to normal business.

* * *

Erasmus Servius opened his eyes. This surprised him. He was only aware that he had one, the other long lost in combat. He moved his hands up to feel his face, and to his surprise it felt smooth and unblemished. He quickly grabbed a fistful of his hair and brought it out in front of him: it was jet black, without a strand of gray. He was young again, looking as he did when he was a gallant Knight of the Flame of Anticlere. Confused, he looked about himself. There was nothing but gray: gray above him, gray below him, gray in front of him. He couldn't fathom what had happened.

"Welcome to my realm."

Erasmus turned his head around to see a creature standing behind him, floating in the abyss. He was a green skinned figure, large and covered in rippling muscle. Erasmus could tell who it was in an instant. "Malacath."

"Indeed," replied the prince. "How does the Ashpit suit you?"

Erasmus looked about himself. "I thought it would be more chaotic."

"Normally, it is. However, I see you as an honored guest, and decided to allow things to be, for the moment, a little more peaceful than I'd like it. I have been waiting to talk to you for some time. Do you remember what happened?"

Trying to recall the immediate past, Erasmus closed his eyes and concentrated. "I failed," he said slowly, "And died in the attempt. Ocato killed me."

Malacath nodded. "That happened, yes. You came very close, but were destroyed through a counterattack by an artifact you couldn't possibly have predicted."

"Ah," said Erasmus, his eyes opening in realization, "Something I hadn't planned on. A pity. I had no idea anything could've defeated Akulakhan."

The Daedric Prince looked at him intently, as though weighing Erasmus' very soul in the process. "How does it feel?"

Erasmus considered the question for a moment. "… Bitter," he concluded, "It is quite bitter to get soclose only to fail… However, at the same time, my memories have become blurry and unreal—as though I were remembering a dream. I can definitely recall the emotion I felt, but every moment that passes I actually feel it less and less."

Malacath crossed his bulging arms. "A fair response."

"Why am I here?" asked Erasmus.

"My direct intervention. For what you did to Molag Bal, the other Daedric Princes have come to an exceptionally rare unanimous decision that you need punishment far greater than any meted out before. What they intend to do with your soul, I do not know. However, I could not allow them to do whatever it may be, not yet."

"Of course," muttered Erasmus with a bitter smile, "Such impudence cannot go unpunished."

The Prince continued to look over Erasmus appraisingly. "You threatened one of the most basic, fundamental laws of the world, Servius. You tried to outsmart a Daedric Prince with your mortal mind. And to think, you actually did it, too. I still have trouble believing it. To think, the ultimate law placing we Daedra above you weak, despairing mortals was turned on its head and nearly destroyed: you represent the only thing that has truly inspired fear in us, and that is why they cannot allow you to ever go in peace."

"You're a Daedra too, though, aren't you?" said Erasmus, "Aren't you threatened by this?"

Malacath gave a vicious smile. "Technically, I suppose. But my love of you outweighs my fear. You were the world's greatest underdog, Servius. Betrayed by your lord, driven by bloody revenge, showing the mighty gods themselves that your grim resolve would eclipse all other powers, divine or otherwise—if you were alive, I'd make you my champion without question. I think that you, more than anyone else, are the true man of the Fourth Era."

"I am flattered," replied Erasmus, respectful but ever-thinking, "But I do not believe that you alone can hold off the combined wills of all the other Daedric Princes."

"That is true," responded Malacath, without any regret or pity, "I will be forced to surrender you. You still have time, though. I can perhaps grant you an hour—whatever you wish in that time is yours."

Erasmus spent a second in thought, weighing his options. "… After so many years of strife and violence, right now all I really wish for is some peace."

"Then you have it," replied Malacath, "Solitude it is. I will return, when your time is up."

The lord began to vanish into the gray around him. "Even if they flay apart your very identity, Servius," he called out before he vanished, "Remember that you were the greater man. You were greater than them all."

Silence. Erasmus was totally alone in this realm. He closed his eyes. He had failed, but it was no longer really relevant. He had a mere hour towards true oblivion. Fate could be cruel, but that was nothing new to him. He had to make the best use of that time. He relaxed and floated in the gray, allowing his body to relax and his constantly taunt muscles to loosen. He spent his time quietly, without allowing worry or concern to consume him, seeking the elusive calm that he had never sought once during his bloody, burning life. At the end of all things, this was all he could ask for.

* * *

Methredhel was nearly alone on the great bridge that linked the Imperial City to the mainland. Normally it was quite busy, but today was the coronation and most people had packed themselves in the Arboretum to see it. She was carrying a small satchel over her shoulder, filled with all the worldly belongings she decided to take with her. The Bal Molagmer believed in not keeping unnecessary items with them, leaving her feeling burdened by the worry that she didn't having something she either wanted or needed, slightly frustrated to be just as poor as she was when she first came to the city, and paradoxically, more free than she ever had been before.

She approached the only other person on the bridge, an elderly Redguard, dressed respectfully but not gaudily, who was watching her intently. As she drew closer, he walked forward and gave her a warm smile. "Our newest recruit arrives. Miss Methredhel, was it?"

"Yeah," said Methredhel quickly, not stopping, "Let's go. We've got work to do, right?"

The Redguard frowned slightly. "You want to leave immediately? Don't you want to witness the coronation?"

"No," replied Methredhel swiftly.

He looked her over with a critical eye before giving a curt nod. "Very well, then. Let us depart."

He began walking forward, and Methredhel followed. As she moved, she could hear a great clamor come up from the city from the crowd—Lex must've accepted the crown. The thought of this caused her to frown deeply, but soon after she looked up resolutely. Lex was a strong man, and he could handle this. She trusted him and believed in him, and knew that he could thrive.

She needed to focus on the immediate present. She, too, was entering a new stage of her life. Above her, the sun came out through the clouds. Normally, she liked the shade, but right now the warmth felt oddly fitting. It was time to apply herself, and to make this nation better than it had been before. Two years after she had arrived in the Imperial City, Methredhel left it. It was a different era, and she was a different person. She looked back once to look upon White-Gold Tower, still flawless despite all the atrocities that had been committed. She had always heard that it meant so many things to so many people, and it was only now that Methredhel truly realized what it was. Hope.

She turned away and looked forward to the quiet, forested acres of the Imperial Reserve, as well as her future. She was ready. With a strong heart she set foot off the bridge and began her journey.

* * *

Maro had just finished completing a page in his ledger when the door to his shop slammed open. A large, ugly Nord entered, carrying a collection bag at his side. "Last day of the year," he hollered, "Get out your dues!"

The Imperial nearly collapsed in shock. Dues! He had been so wrapped up in everything that happened that he managed to forget that he was broke! The Nord lumbered over to Varnado, who grudgingly opened up his strongbox and took out the Merchant Guild's fee, counting it out carefully. Maro, however, knew he didn't have nearly enough to cover this. His big haul with the XIIth Legion, which had been disbanded in the wake of Servius' death, was left unpaid. He had nothing. Not only had Lynette left, his store was going under. His mouth felt dry. He had lost, and was powerless to stop this. All he could do was await his inevitable fate.

But, like with so many other inevitable fates of Maro's life, this one opted not to come. The Nord, after taking Varnado's money started to move towards the door without so much as a glance towards Maro. The young merchant was so surprised he decided to look the gift horse in the mouth. "Wait!"

The Nord looked over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"What about me?" Maro asked.

The Nord gave him an angry glare. "You stupid? You've already paid. Some noblewoman came down this morning with your fee as well as your debt and paid it all off for you. Probably realized how much of a deadbeat you are."

The door slammed shut. Maro wasn't exactly sure what to say. His debt was gone. It was paid off. He didn't need to worry anymore about going under, or losing his store. One of his biggest worries gone without even knowing it. He looked over to Varnado, who offered him a surprised shrug, and a rare smile. A moment later, the door to The Best Defense opened again, and a new figure entered.

A young adventurer entered, green and untested, in need of armor and equipment. The adventurer's eyes reflected a variety of emotions that people of that age and occupation feel: eagerness, nervousness, drive and courage. This was an adventurer of the Forth Era. Maro had seen hundreds of men and mer enter his store before, but never before had he realized their promise. Maro looked up, his voice loud, confidant, and ready to seize this second chance at building his future. "The Best Defense! That's me, Maro Rufus! Light armor! The very best!"

* * *

Pa' Tun o Kalaton. The Vertical City. Heart of the Infinite Empire. The seat of the Immortal Tiger-Dragon Emperor Tosh Raka, seated upon the Serpent-Fire Throne. The only other cities that could rival it were Tsaescara and, perhaps, the Imperial City. Carved into the sheer face of Pa' Tun Chion Holy Place, it was visible rising upwards into the heavens from miles away, like a mighty dragon taking flight into the heavens. It was mighty. It was unified. It was strong.

Khon-Ma walked onto the Sacred Tier confidently. She no longer wore the robes that confined her during her work in Tamriel: this was a formal occasion, so she donned the flowing silken gown so adored by _these _people, decorated with scenes of running water babbling down a mountain-brook. This land was not unfamiliar to her, although she did not smile. The Sacred Tier extended deep into the mountainside, which had been chiseled away by thousands of hands over hundreds of years. Stone tigers, fabricated by experts' efforts, snarled down at her from their immovable positions. She was not wanted, but she was needed.

The roaring of the river crashed down from within the tier, framing the waterfall that defined the Vertical City. It caused the Serpent-Fire Throne to be located upon a small island, reserved only for the most worth to set foot upon. There was no bridge to it. To use a bridge would be to prove that one was unworthy. Khon-Ma gazed upon the palace across the water. It's massive, red sloping roofs were crowned with furious golden dragons; their vicious fangs glazed red with rubies. The Ka'Po'Tun guards stood, infinite in number to suit the needs of their Infinite Empire, ready to pass their grim judgment on those who dared allow their eyes to linger on the palace for too long. She could not compare this structure to White-Gold Tower: to do so would be to compare a flawless diamond to a chunk of coal.

She leaned down to the waters that separated her from the island. Lily pads dotted the surface, their white blooms present in every month of the year. She tapped the surface of the water to playfully frighten the koi which rested peacefully in this seat of tranquility. Of the many creatures on the world, she often felt as though the koi were the only ones she did not despise. Regardless, she could not spend time with them today, for Tosh Raka himself had summoned her, and it would be for the best not to keep him waiting. She stood upright and spoke the Power Word.

Slowly the lilies of the pool began to move towards the center of the water, stretching thin from the shallows directly in front of Khon-Ma's feet to the palace-island at the other side. She slowly stepped forth on to the lilies, each one supporting her weight as she traveled across the river's strength. Mid-way across she stopped and looked the opposite direction from the palace. The water ended where the Sacred Tier did, plummeting downwards towards the lower tiers, but the sky here seemed far vaster than anywhere else. To look off the Sacred Tier was to see an unlimited field of blue. She was far above the ground, after all. Reluctantly she returned to her course across the leaf-thin bridge until she set foot upon the metaled road that led to the palace.

Now on land, she continued her approach. The Imperial Guard looked down on her, their massive, sculpted bodies bristling with power and withheld might. She made no effort to provoke them. She passed through the gates easily enough—The Tiger Gate, The Dragon Gate, The Infinite Gate—as she had done countless times in the past, and most likely would do countless more times in the future. She came to the Grand Doors which separated Tosh Raka's Divine Hall from the mundane world. For her, the barrier was opened. She walked through towards the Serpent-Fire Throne.

The Divine Hall was built on a scale far grander than her small, half-human frame could properly accommodate. She lifted herself elegantly over the massive steps, each one the height of her breast. She paid no attention to the mountain-like pillars which supported the heaven-like roof above her, each one a masterpiece of both art and architecture. She walked down the middle of the Divine Hall towards its end, The Origin of All and, of course, the Serpent-Fire Throne.

The Infinite Court had assembled to witness Khon-Ma's return. To the right of the throne was Yehonisan-Varesha, the Golden Prince, his brilliant scales gleaming as though they too had been covered in the precious metal that dominated the hallway. Opposite him was Zhal Raden, the Prince of Fury, his own coat as brilliantly orange as the fires of the sun and as black as the depths of oblivion. There was once a time where he thought that he had something in common with Khon-Ma: they both bore the ugly title of _hybrid._ She, however, had no interest in him, at least not yet. His intense glare promised to melt her icy skin, but she had no feelings towards him, just frozen apathy.

The Serpent-Fire Throne itself was a seat worthy of, or perhaps grander than, any a Daedric Prince could aspire to. It loomed as a massive peal of flame, created by an era where the Emperors were more divine than mortal: a missing fragment of the Dawn Era which had refused to be forgotten by time. Even Khon-Ma felt a stirring in her heart as she looked upon the prefect artifact, its challenging, twisting spouts of frozen fire as dominating and luminous as the Bloodmoon.

Coiled around the throne was the queen, who had not yet been handed a title by the Imperial Scribes, the serpentine Kalista-Xiorian. She looked down bemusedly at Khon-Ma, her amber eyes never at rest, always scheming. Yet dominant of all these great figures, the Most Worthy of the Infinite Court, was of course the Tiger-Dragon Emperor himself, Tosh Raka. He could not be ignored by anyone, so majestic was his presence. He looked down upon Khon-Ma, who quickly kneeled prostrate before him. The court looked on as she submitted. Tosh Raka was appeased. "Rise," he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the Hall.

Khon-Ma returned to her feet. "Glorious Emperor," she began, in the arcane dialect required to address someone of Tosh Raka's ultimate station, "I have returned from Tamriel, having carried out my sacred task. The seeds of discord have been sewn throughout the Empire of the Cyrodiils. Their armies lie scattered and crippled and their leaders are disjointed and frightened. At last, the dream of the Original Emperor can come to pass."

Tosh Raka smiled deeply, fully satisfied with her answer. "And the Scrolls?"

A single second passed. For a citizen of Tamriel, it would mean nothing, but to the Akaviri, a single lapse in courtly speech was a deep, penetrating shame. Tosh Raka's smile disappeared, and the Infinite Court stared down in silent condemnation. Khon-Ma attempted to recover. "Both of my companions were killed before we could reconvene. I could not obtain the Scrolls."

Tosh Raka continued to stare at Khon-Ma in absolute silence, his divine eyes burning with limitless rage. He spoke. "You must return and obtain them."

A merciful verdict, and one Khon-Ma did not fully expect. She kneeled once more, her forehead touching the ground. "Thank you, Glorious One."

Kalista-Xiorian, Queen of the Tsaesci and the Infinite Empress spoke next. "What man now leads the barbarous hordes?"

"Hieronymus Lex," replied Khon-Ma, not yet daring to stand, "A weak man, chosen by a fractured court in order to appease their fears."

The Infinite Empress constricted in anticipation. "Then the time truly has come. The hour of vengeance has arrived!"

"Yes," bellowed Tosh Raka, standing upright, "Listen well, O people of Akavir! The Infinite Empire stands ready to annex our rightful province of Tamriel from the ignorant masses that hold it! Send word to the shipyards to begin construction of the greatest fleet history has ever known! Send word to the generals to rally worth the limitless armies to heed my Sacred Charge! Send word to scribes to record the greatest endeavor of Akaviri history! Today, we grasp our destiny! Today, we take the first, bold step towards Tamriel!"

His voice rang through the court like the divine proclamation that it was. Immediately the courtiers fell prostrate to the ground like Khon-Ma, save one. One single Ta'Po'Kun was writing furiously at a roll of parchment, preserving the wisdom of Tosh Raka for eternity. The Dragon-Emperor had declared the invasion of Tamriel. And, as fitting of his infallible word, it was recorded.

Tamriel could no longer be tolerated. It was to be seized. So it was written. So shall it be.

* * *

Lex stood before the crowd, only half-aware of what words Ocato was now speaking. The coronation ceremony was rife with ritual, mostly thick, allegorical references and rhetorical flourishes that Lex neither understood nor cared about. His mind was elsewhere, even as the chancellor's speech entered his ears. "… To act as the agent of Imperial might…"

Did he even deserve this? Had none of this started—had he just stayed in Anvil—Guilliam, Civello, and Sigrdríf would have never died. And what did their deaths mean? They died so Lex could accept burdens that would ruin his own life. Did they even die for anything; did their deaths have any meaning? Does death itself have any meaning?

"… To wield the sword of righteousness and let fly the arrow of retribution…"

Why did he do this? Why didn't he turn around at the very start? Was it truly too late to quit this? There was still too much he wanted to do, things that would be impossible under the weight of the crown. Could he really let go of all his hopes and dreams here and now, when he only just recently realized what he was truly capable of? Could he go through with this and still bare himself? Could he bear himself if he refused?

"And to eternally defend the Empire of Cyrodiil from her enemies, wherever they may lie."

He didn't want this. He knew that clearly. If he learned nothing else over this year, and if everything else was hazy and indiscernible, he knew very well that he _did not want this._

Ocato turned to him. "Hieronymus Lex. Do you accept this charge?"

Everyone's eyes were on him, all waiting for a response. Snapped from his thoughts, Lex opened his mouth. "I…"

All the thoughts flashed through his mind in a single instant. His mouth moved without him deliberately choosing what to say.

"Accept."

There was now an emperor. The crowd burst into applause.

* * *

The _Roris the Martyr _readied its sails, minutes away from departure. Habasi had booked a fare on it. She stood near the edge of a ship, leaning on the railing, looking out to sea. The Dunmer crew, reviled by the newfound attitudes of the Imperial City, had kept belowdecks as much as possible, leaving Habasi alone above them, quietly staring at the waves. She could hear a man from the docks running towards the ship. She turned and saw Christophe approaching as fast as he could, holding out his arm. "Habasi!"

She stared at him, her eyes neutral. He came to a stop and caught his breath. The Khajiit looked down on him. "Yes?"

"Habasi, what are you doing?" he said, nearly shouting."You can't go to Morrowind! It's far too dangerous!"

Habasi shook her head. "… Morrowind is this one's true home. She must return."

Christophe gave her an exasperated look. "Are you mad? The whole region could break out in violence again at any minute! You could get killed over there!"

Habasi nodded. "And yet it is still home, and she must return."

He wasn't willing to accept the answer, but luckily, he knew that he had an offer that she couldn't refuse, one that he had wanted to give her for a long, long time. "Listen, Habasi," he began, "We just lost the woman we thought would be doyen. I want to give the post to you. Stay here, Habasi. Accept the doyenship that was denied to you and that you deserve."

For the first time since that fated day years and years ago, Christophe saw Habasi smile. It was a sad and weary smile, perhaps, but a smile all the same. "She no longer wants any of that. Habasi will return to Morrowind."

Christophe was at a lack of words in one of the rare moments he was genuinely caught off guard. "You're serious about this? You're turning down the doyenship to go off to what very well might kill you?"

Habasi was resolute. "Yes."

A bell sounded out and the crew of the ship began to file out on deck. It was time for the ship to leave. Habasi's smile didn't leave her face as she lifted her paw-like hand towards Christophe. "Goodbye, Armand," she called out over the sound of the sails catching the wind, "Take care of yourself."

Christophe held out his hand, but couldn't find any words. The great vessel creaked as it made its way out of the dock and onto the open sea. Habasi watched Christophe for a few moments, but after she couldn't make him out well then turned and walked to the bow of the ship. The salty wind rushed past her face as the crashing waves caused peals of mist to rise into the air. The sun shone down on the sea, causing it to take on a brilliant blue shade, more vivid than Habasi could have ever seen before. She closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh air. For the first time in years, she felt young. She had finally come to the conclusion she had searched for.

She wanted to live.

* * *

In the smoky catacombs beneath the humbled city where Sotha Sil had forged the future with his arcane clockwork apparatus, something unforeseen happened. An oily bubble seeped from a long trusted gear and popped. Immediately afterward, an unforeseen chain arose, triggered by that tiny action. A pipe shifted half an inch to the right. A tread skipped. A coil rewound itself and began spinning in a counter direction. A piston that had been thrusting right-left, right-left, for centuries suddenly began shifting left-right. Nothing broke, but everything changed.

It could not be fixed now.

Starlight shone through a crick the night sky. It was midnight. The Fourth Era, the age of chaos, had begun.


	44. Afterword

I actually began writing _434_ because of a dare. I had been out for the evening with a couple of friends of mine, and the three of us had become rather drunk. As our conversation grew louder and more animated by the glass, our discussion turned to an area that had never been strange to me: history and specifically my grandfather's place in it.

It is not easy being the grandson of Carlovac Townway. _2920: The Last Year of the First Era _had been called by many critics the pinnacle of fusion between methodical, serious history and approachable, readable fiction. From as early on as I could remember, people had asked me if I was to follow in my grandfather's footsteps and become a great historian in my own right. If they assumed so, they must be extremely disappointed. I have never claimed that my writings were neither brilliant nor inspired: I write cheap fiction for common access. Compared to my grandfather's extraordinary rigorous research, I've been a literary nothing.

Back to the story, having drank one glass too many, a friend of mine brought up my grandfather and asked me when I would lend my own pen to increasing the luminosity of the Townway canon (perhaps, in his drunkenness, less elegantly than that). I had heard such requests my entire life, and so decided to do a new response. I declared loudly and before every patron of the tavern that I was to write my own history, this one of the Third Era, which would be every bit as respected as my grandfather's masterwork. I was flustered, inebriated, and overzealous. I had no idea where this boast would lead me.

After this event, when I was rational and sober, this thought still wouldn't leave my head. The events of the year 434 have been recorded, analyzed, and written in dozens upon dozens of volumes, but not one attempted the broad, definitive picture that my grandfather had created for the year 2920. Perhaps, I thought, someone should write such a tale. Perhaps I was the one to do it.

Soon into my writing process, I realized that I was essentially the antithesis of my grandfather when it came to writing. He was always a historian first and an author second. He spent far more time compiling facts and cross-referencing events than embarking on literary flights of fancy, as was his calling. I, however, found it difficult to wade in a sea of history, especially given the obtuse and often contradictory accounts of the year's actions. I soon realized that _434 _would not be _2920: _the later was history disguised as literature, while mine would, at best, be literature disguised as history.

That is not to say that I threw the historical account out the window. On the contrary, I did do a hefty amount of research into the Imperial Candidacy. In fact, one of the most difficult parts of writing _434 _was not what to include, but what to leave out. Some stories, say the Dark Brotherhood's attempt on Hieronymus I's life, are so engrained into the cultural landscape that they _had _to be included, even if they are, in my opinion, ahistorical.

This led to me having to make a hard choice, and one my grandfather likely would've disowned me for. I have presented history in the way I think it ought to have happened. I cannot make promises on the veracity of my account, and will admit it occasionally veers into the realm of speculation. I hope to have constructed a portrait not only of Hieronymus I (who has had myriad varying depictions over the years), but also of the great and not so great figures around him, all of who had their own influence of the year. In this endeavor, I have attempted to make a tale that is as speculative and uncertain of the future as the people of the era were in the year 434_. _Perhaps some readers will dislike my often familiar and not always glowing portrayal of Hieronymus I; however, I wrote my piece according to my own views, not the Empire's.

_Publisher's Note: The author was not mistaken to be worried about the public's reception of his tale. Between the original publication of _434, _which was heavily censored by Lexian authorities to portray their dynastic founder as a perfect mythical hero, to the most recognized third edition, which expunged over forty percent of the novel in search of "separating the history from the fable", there has never been a definite volume that reflected the author's true vision. New Camlorn Publishing is pleased to present the original, unedited manuscript of _434: The Last Year of the Third Era_, so that the reader, and not the editor, can determine what is or is not of value._

I do not know how the events of the year 434 actually played out. However, from all my research, including modern histories, interviews with descendants of those who appear in the story, and what primary documents that I could obtain, this is as close as I believe that I could strive to come. Perhaps I have succeeded in creating a passable novel. Or, more likely, this story is on the par of my other works, destined for a cheap, disposable diversion from the ennui of everyday life. That is not for me to say.

However history may judge me, this was still a long effort that I could not have accomplished without the aid and assistance of many parties who are far too numerous to thanks in a single paragraph. Still, I must point out three specific cases in particular, without which this story would not have been possible. First, to the caretakers of the Imperial Library, who kindly allowed me access to their archives at nearly every stage in my writing process. Second, to Mr. LeStrange, whose encouragement was a great motivator for me at the onset of this project. Finally, and foremost, I must thank the great Argonian scholar Decius Frecentis, whose insight, support, and criticism made _434 _the work it was.

And for what is next? Many records exist for the hectic months and years which ushered in the Forth Era. However, perhaps I could attempt to, once again, create an overall picture of the events that took place. There are other stories I wish to tell as well, of course: as a writer, my mind always churns with new ideas. Wherever my writing takes me, I still offer my thanks to you, gentle reader. Thank you for your attention and care in reading this little story of mine. For now, I lay down my pen.

I remain your humble scribe,  
_Gérard Townway_, 4e 71


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